954 
IB  167 

am 


UC-NRLF 


$B    5M"1    fi'lfi 


in 

Ico 


PAST  REDEMPTION.    4  Acts.    Price  25  cts. 
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TITAN  lA.    A  Fairy  Play  for  Children.    2  Acts.    Price  25  cts, 
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M.  BAKER'S 
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^althrop's  Bachelors.    Comedy  in  Three  Acts.    Translated  from  German  by  Oeoige  M 

?r.     25  cents. 

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ji  Veil.     Cummedetta  in  One  Act.    By  Sir  Randal  Roberts.    25  cents. 

♦  ay.    Farce  in  One  Act.    By  Dr.  F.  A.  Harris.    25  cents. 

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Spencer's  Universal  Stage. 

A  Collection  of  COMEDIES,  DRAMAS,  and   FARCES,  adapted  to  eUher  Public  or  PriwxA 
Performance.    Containing  a  full  description  of  all  the  '^v»«j 

necessary  Stage  Business. 
PRICE,  15   CENTS   EACH,      i®- No  Plays  Exchanged. 


L  LOST  IN  LONDON.    A  Drama  in  8  Acts. 

6  male,  4  female  characters. 
2,  NICHOLAS    FLAM.   A  Comedy  in  2  Acts. 

By  J.  B,  Buckstone.   5  male,  3  female  char. 

5.  THE  WELSH  GIF.L.    A  Comedy  in  1  Act 

By  Mrs.  Flauche.    3  male,  2  female  char. 
4.  JOHN  WOPPS.     A   Farce    in   1  Act.     By 
W.  E.  Suter.    4  male,  2  female  char. 

6.  THE  TURKISH  BATH.   A  Farce  in  1  Act 

By  Montague  Williams  and  F.  C.  Bumand. 
C  male,  1  female  cliar. 
e.  THE   TWO    PUDDIPOOTS.   A  Farce  in  1 
Act.   By  J.  M.  Morton.    3  male,  3  female  char. 

7.  OLD    HONESTY.      A  Comic   Drama   in   2 

Acts.   By  J.  M.  Morton.   5  male-  2  female  char. 
B.  TWO    GENTLEMEN    IN    A    FIX.     A 

Farce  in  1  Act    By  \V.  E.  Suter.    2  male  char. 
9.  SMASHINQTON   GOIT.    A  Farce  in  i  Act 

By  T.  J.  Williams.     5  male,  3  iiemale  char. 
10.  TWO  HEADS  BETTER  THAN  ONE.  A 

Farce  in  1  Act     By  Lenox  Home.    4  male, 

1  female  char. 
IL  JOHN  DOBBS.    A  Farce  in  1  Act  ByJ.M. 

Morton.    5  male,  2  female  char. 
Z2.  THE  DAUGHTER  of  the  REGIMENT. 

A  Drama  in  2  Acts.     By  Edward  Fitzball, 

6  male,  2  female  char. 
>3.  AUN-T  CHARLOTTE'S  MAID.  A  Farce  in  1 

Act.   By  J.  M.  JMortou.    3  male,  3  female  char. 
14    BROTHER  BILL  AND  ME.    A  Farce  in 

1  Act   By  W.  E.  Suter.   4  male,  3  female  char. 

15.  DONE    ON  BOTH    SIDES.    A  Farce  in  1 

Act   By  J.  M.  Morton.    3  male,  2  female  char. 

16.  DUNDUCKETTT'S  PICNIC.   A  Farce  in  1 

Act.   By  T.  J.  Williams.  G  male,  3  female  char. 

17.  I'VE  WRITTEN  TO  BROWNE.  A  Farce 
.     in  1  Act    By  T.  J.  WUliama.  4  male,  3  female 

char. 
19.  MY  PRECIOUS    BETSY.    A  Farce  in  1 

Act  By  J.  M.  Morton.    4  male,  4  female  char. 
SO.  MY    TURN  NEXT.    A  Farce  in  1  Act  By 

T.  J.  Williams.   4  male,  3  female  char. 

22.  THE  PHANTOM  BREA.KPAST.  A  Farce 

in  1  Act  By  Chas.  Selby.  '.j  male,  2  lemalc  char. 

23.  DANDELION'S  DODGES.     A  Farce  in  1 
-  Act  By  T.  J.  Williams.   4  male,  2  female  char. 

24.  A  SLICE  OF  LUCK.   A  Farce  in  1  Act  By 

J.  AI.  Morton.   4  male,  2  female  char. 

26.  ALWAYS    INTENDED.     A  Comedy  in  1 

Act  By  Uorace  Wigan,   3  male,  3  female  char. 
26  A  BULL  IN  A  CHINA  SHOP.  A  Comedy 
in  2  Acts.    By  Charles  Matthews.    6  male,  4 
female  char. 

27.  ANOTHER  GLASS.  A  Drama  in  1  Act  By 

Thomas  Morton.    G  male,  3  female  char. 

28.  BOWLED   OUT.     A  Farce  in  1  Act   ByH. 

T.  Craven.  4  male,  3  female  char. 

29.  COUSIN  TOM.   A  Commedietta  in  1  Act.  By 

Geo.  Roberts.    3  male,  2  female  char. 
80.  SARAH'S  YOUNG   MAN.     A  Farce  in  1 

Act     By  W.  E.  Suter.   3  male,  3  female  char. 
31.  HIT  HIM,  HE  HAS  NO  FRIENDS.   A 

Farce  in  1  Act.    By  E.  Yates  and  N.  U.  Har- 
rington-  7  male,  3  female  char. 
82.  THE   CHRISTENING.    A  Farce  in  1  Act. 

By  J.  B.  Buckstone.   5  male  6  female  char. 
8S.  A  RACE  FOR  A  WIDOW.     A  Farce  in  1 

Act   By  T.  J.  Williams.  5  male,  4  female  char. 
34.  YOUR  LIFE'S  IN  DANGER.    A  Farce  in 

1  Act   By  J.  M.  Morton.  3  male,  3  female  char. 
85.  TRUE  UNTO  DEATH.    A  Drama  in  2  Acts. 

Bv  J.  Sheridan  Knowles.  6  male,^2  female  char. 


86.  DIAMOND  CUT  DLA.MOND.  Anlnterludi 

ml  Act   By  W.  H.  Murray.   10  male,  1  femali 
char. 

87.  LOOK  -AJPTER  BROWN.   A  Farce  in  1  Acta 

By  George  A.  Stuart,  M.  D.   6  male,  1  female 
char.  ■ 

38.  MONSEIGNEUR.    A  Drama  in  3  Acts.   Bi 

Thomas  Archer.   15  mule,  3  female  char.         "1 

39.  A   VERY    PLEASANT     EVENING.     I^- 

Farce  in  1  Act.   By  W.  E.  Suter.   3  male  char.  ^ 

40.  BROTHER  BEN.    A  Farce  in  1  Act    By  JJ 

M.  Morton.   3  male,  3  female  char.  1 

41.  ONLY  A  CLOD.    A  Comic  Drama  in  1  Acta 

By  J.  P.  Simpson.   4  male,  1  female  char. 

42.  GASPARDO     THE     GONDOLIER.      A 

Drama  in  3  Acts.   By  George  Almar.    10  male 
2  female  char. 

43.  SUNSHINE  THROUGH  THE  CLOUDS. 

A  Drama  in  1  Act.    By  Slingsby  Lawreuce.    i 
male,  3  female  char. 

44.  DON'T  JUDGE  BY  APPEARANCES.    A 

Farce  in  1  Act.     By  J.  M.  Morton.     3  male, 
female  char. 

45.  NURSEY  CHICKWEED.   A  Farce  in  1  Act 

By  T.  J.  Wi.liams.   4  male,  2  lemale  char. 

46.  MARY  MOO ;  or,  Which  shall  I  Marry?: 

A  Farce  in  1  Act    By  W.  £.  Suter.  2  male, '] 
female  char. 

47.  EAST  LYNNE.    A  Drama  in  5  Acts.  8  male 

7  lemale  char. 

48.  THE  HIDDEN  HAND.  A  Drama  in  5  Acts. 

By  Robert  Jones.   IG  male,  7  female  char. 

49.  SILVERSTONE'S  WAGER.   A  Commedi- 

etta in  1  Act   By  R.  R.  Audrewa.   4  male,  3  le- 
male char. 

50.  DORA.  A  Pastoral  Drama  in  3  Acts.   By  Chas, 

Reade.    6  male,  2  female  char. 

55.  THE  WIFE'S  SECRET.    A  Play  in  5  Acts. 

By  Geo.  W.  Lovell.  10  male,  2  female  char. 

56.  THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOOD.    A  Com- 

edy  in  3  Acts.  By  Tom  Taylor.   10  male,  3  le- 
male char. 

57.  PUTKINS  ;  Heir  1 3  Castles  in  the  Air. 

A  Comic  Drama  in  i  Act   By  W.  It  Emersou, 

2  male,  2  fe  i.ale  char. 

58.  AN  UGLY  CUSTOMER.    A  Farce  in  1  Act 

By  Th-rmas  J.  Williams.   3  male,  2  lemale  cliar. 

59.  BLUE  AND  CHERRY.  A  Comedy  in  1  Act 

3  male,  2  female  char. 

60.  A  DOUBTFUL  VICTORY.  A  Comedy  Ie 

1  Act    3  male,  2  fcni.-ile  char. 

61.  THE  SCARLET  LETTER.   A  Drama  in  J 

Acts.    8  male,  7  female  char. 

62.  WHICH  WILL  HAVE  HIM?  A  Vaude- 

ville.   1  male,  2  female  char. 

63.  MADAM  IS  ABED.    A  Vaudeville  in  1  Actjj 

2  male,  2  female  char. 

64.  THE  ANONYMOUS  KISS.    A  Vaudeville^ 

2  male,  2  female  char. 

65.  THE  CLEFT  STICK.    A  Comedy  in  3  Act« 

5  male,  3  female  char. 

66.  A  SOLDIER.   A  SAILOR,  A  TINKER) 

AND  A  TAILOR.   AFarcein  lAci.  4male< 
2  female  char. 

67.  GIVE  A  DOG  A   BAD  NAM£.    A  Farced 

2  male,  2  female  char. 

68.  DAMON    AND    PYTHIAS.     A  Farce.   ( 

male,  4  female  char.  v 

69.  A  HUSBAND  TO  ORDER.   A  Serio-comii 

Drama  in  2  Acts.    5  male,  3  female  char.         | 

70.  PAYABLE   ON  DEMAND.     A  Domestii 

Drama  in  2  Acts.    7  male,  1  female  char. 


Descriptive  Catalogue  mailed  free  on  application  to 

Geo.  M.  Baker  6l  Co.,  47  Franklin  St.«  Boflfon. 


AMONG  THE  BREAKERS^ 

^  Bf  ama,  in  Ttwo  Jtcta. 


BY  THE  A.UT5iOu  ua- 

•^yiV>«'i  So^dl«T,    "Once  on  a  Time,"  '*Do«rn  by  the  Sea,"  "Bi«f.d  on  the  "^^atenT 

ThL-  Last  Loaf,"  "  Stand  by  the  Fla":,"  "  The  Tempter,"  "  A  Drop  Too  Much,"  "  WVtf 

AU  Teetotallers,"   "A  Little  More  Cider,"  "Thirty  Minutes  for  Refreshments," 

*  Wanted,  a  Male  Cook,"  "  A  Sea  of  Troubles,"  "  Freedom  of  the  Press,''  "A 

Close  Shave,"  "  Tlie  Great  Elixir,"  "  Tlie  Man  with  the  Demijohn,"  "  He'ff 

brooms  Sweep  Clean,"  **  Humors  of  the  Strike,"  "  M3'  Uncle  the  Captain," 

"The  Greatest  Plague  in  Life,"  "No  Cure,  No  Pay,"  "The  GreciaP 

■^jtend,"  "The  War  of  the    Roses,"  "  Lighthearfja    Pilgiimagei*' 

*^The  Sculptor's  Triumph,"  "  Too  Late  for  the  Train,"  "  Siicw- 

Bound,"  "ThePtfddlerof  Very  Nice,"  "  Bonbons,"  "  Capu- 

tetta,"  "An  Original  Idea,"  "Enlisted  for  tlie  War," 

*  Never  Say  Die,"  "The  Champion  of  her  Sex," 

**The    Visions   of    Freedom,"    "The    Merry 

Christmas  of  the  Old  Woman  who  lived  in  e 

*ihoe,"  "  T"he  Tournament  of  Idylcourt,' 

■^A   Thorn    among    the    Roses-** 

**  A    Christmas    Carol," 

"One    Hundred 

*!     *"    '  /  .f  ears  Ago," 

"     t  a  -  *   "        .  &C. 


j^'S^iW^,^ 


Mj 


BOSTON : 
iiiEORGE  M.  BAKER  ANU  OOMPANYj 

41-45  Franklin  Street. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1872, 

By  George  M.  Baker, 

In  tlie  Office  of  tlie  Librarian  of  Congi-ess  at  Washingtwn. 


Boston: 

Stereotyped  and  Printed  by 

Rand,  Avery,  &  Co. 


AMONG  THE  BREAKERS. 


A  DRAMA  IN  TWO   ACTS. 


CHARACTERS. 

David  Murray,  Keeper  of  Fairpoint  Light. 

Larry  Divine,  his  Assistant. 

Hon.  Bruce  Hunter. 

Clarence  Hunter,  his  Ward. 

Peter  Paragraph,  a  Newspaper  Reporter. 

Scud,  Hunter's  colored  Servant. 

Miss  Minnie  Daze,  Hunter's  Niece. 

Bess  Starbright,  "  Cast  up  by  the  Waves." 

**  Mother  Carey,"  a  reputed  Fortune -Teller. 

Biddy  Bean,  an  Irish  Girl. 


COSTUMES. 

Murray  (age  46).  Full  black  beard,  iron-gray  wig,  dark  pantt} 
red  or  blue  sailor's  shirt,  with  black  necktie,  pea-jacket,  and 
tarpaulin  hat. 

LiRRT  (age  25).  Red  crop  wig,  pea-jacket,  dark  pants,  red  of 
blue  sailor's  shirt,  and  tarpaulin  hat. 

107 


M50859 


108  AMONG   THE    BREAKERS. 

Hunter  (age  45).     Dark  English  side  whiskers,  iron-gray  wig, 

dark,  fashionable  suit. 
Clairencb  (age  21).     Jarty  yachtman's  suit. 
Paragraph   (age  30).      Black  crop  wig,  large  red  mustache, 

gray  pants,  white  vest,  black  velvet  coat,  light  hat,  umbrella. 
Scud  (age  40).   Gray  woolly  wig,  black  face,  green  plaid  pants^ 

gaiters,  white  vest,  ruffled  shirt  front,   standing  coUv,  blu« 

coat  with  brass  buttons. 
Miss  Daze    (age   20).     Fashionable   dress   of  summer  fabric, 

Florida  hat,  white  crape  shawl,  parasol. 
Bess    (age    18).     Short  red  dress,   muslin  waist,   neat  polka 

jacket,  flowing  hair,  janty  sailor  hat. 
**  Mother  Carey  "  (age  40).     Disguise  of  an  old  fortune-teller. 

Long,  white  hair,  wig,  dress  of  dark  stuflT,  red  shawl  draped 

about  her  shoulders,  crutch-cane.     She  hobbles,  and  has  *Jie 

appearance  of  a  woman  of  seventy. 
Biddy  Bean.    Neat  calico  dress,  apron. 


pn  the  storm  scene,  thunder,  lightning,  and  rain  are  effective. 
Thunder  is  produced  by  shaking  a  large  sheet  of  iron,  holding  it 
by  one  corner,  lightning  by  blowing  powdered  rosin  into  the 
flame  of  a  candle  through  a  common  **  pea-shooter."  A  "  rain  "- 
box  is  made  by  driving  pegs  of  wood  into  the  bottom  of  a  box 
about  eighteen  inches  long,  six  wide,  and  six  high.  Into  the 
box  throw  a  handful  of  dried  peas,  fasten  on  the  cover,  and 
copious  showers  can  be  produced  by  letting  the  peas  slowly  lat- 
tia  along  the  box  fronr.  end  to  end.] 


AMONG   THE    BREAKERS.  109 


A.CT  I. — Scene.  Room  in  the  Light -heqer's  house^ 
Table^  C,  set  for  supper.  Long  box  or  hench^  L. 
Bocking-chair^  R.  Stool,  R.  Door,  c,  leading  to  the 
beach,  the  lighthouse,  Sc,  Door,  R.,  leading  to  the 
kitche'%.     Door,  L.,  leading  to  Murray's  sZeepin^  room, 

Larry  and  Biddy  discovered,  r.  and  l.  of  table,  eating. 

Biddy,  Faith,  now,  Misther  Larry,  it's  joking  ye's 
are. 

Larry.  Niver  a  once.  There's  not  a  live  man  widdin 
tin  miles,  savin'  the  masther,  Misther  Murray,  mysilf, 
owld  Mother  Carey,  and  Bess  Starbright,  the  famale  life 
praserver,  who  can  bate  the  worrld  wid  the  pull  uv  her 
oars,  and  the  light  in  the  tower  beyant  wid  the  glame  of 
her  bright  eyes.  It's  mysilf  would  like  to  be  drownded, 
for  the  sake  of  being  pulled  from  a  wathery  grave  by  that 
same  darlint.  And  that's  the  extint  uv  fashionable 
society  at  Fairpoint. 

Biddy,  Ye  don't  mane  it.  O,  musha !  why  did  I 
lave  the  city  for  this  wilderness  of  rocks  and  say  ? 

Larry.  Why,  d'ye  ask  ?  Because  yer  own  thrue  Irish 
heart  towld  ye's  that  here  would  be  found  a  broth  uv  a 
D'y  pinin'  for  famale  society.  O,  Biddy  Bane,  yer  a 
jewel,  so  ye  are,  and  I  dying  wid  the  love  I've  had  for 
ye's  a  twilvemonth,  though  I  niver  set  eyes  on  ye  afore 
the  day. 

Biddy.  O,  blarney,  Misther  Larry !  It's  a  smooth 
tongue  ye's  have,  onyhow.  But  till  me,  is  the  masthei 
kind? 


no         *  AMONG  THE    BREAKEBS. 

LaiTy,     V/ell,  the   laste  said    about  him  the  betther 
He's  the  gloom  upon  him,  and  sometimes  I  think  there's 
something   gnawin'   at    his   conscience.      Well,  well,  I 
mustn't  talk.  You've  only  been  here  a  day.  Say  for  yesiif. 

Biddy,     Have  ye  lived  here  long,  Misther  Larry  ? 

Larry,  A  matther  of  five  or  six  years  ;  owld  Murray 
fifteen.  The  last  kaper  of  the  light  was  found  dead  one 
morning  afther  a  stormy  night,  when  the  lamps  were  not 
lit,  and  a  ship  drifted  into  the  breakers  and  wint  to  paces. 
Not  a  sowl  saved  except  Bess  Starbright,  whom  the  wavcf 
tossed  up  to  Mother  Carey's  door. 

Biddy.     An'  who's  Mother  Carey  —  I  donno  ? 

Larry.  An'  it's  will  ye  don't,  for  to  my  mind  she's 
the  very  —  you  know  what  I  mane.  She  lives  on  the 
bache,  and  picks  up  a  livin'  by  tellin'  fates,  and  fortunes, 
an'  sich  like.  It's  a  famous  resort  for  the  city  folks  in 
their  yachts,  and  she  picks  up  many  a  silver  bit  from  the 
loikes  of  'em. 

Biddy.  A  witch  is  it  ?  O,  musha !  I'll  pack  up  my 
thrunk,  and  lave  to  onct. 

Larry.  O,  no  you  won't,  Biddy,  darlint.  She's  no 
trouble  to  such  a  dacent,  nate,  bawitchin'  little  sowl  as  y« 
are  ;  and,  besides,  here's  a  warm  heart  and  a  sthrong  arm 
to  love  and  protict  ye's  —  d'ye  mind  ? 

Jiiddy.  O,  be  aisy  wid  yer  jokin'  I  Ye  bring  tlie 
favcr  to  me  cheeks. 

Larry  {rising^  and  coming  to  side  of  Biddy).  It's  no 
joke  at  all,  at  all.  Ye've  come,  like  the  darlint  that 
ye  are,  to  cheer  my  solitude,  and  swaten  the  cup  uv  life 
wi«  the  honey  of  yer  priscnce  (puts  his  arm  around 
h^   paist)^  and  I  love  ye,  Biddy  Bane,  so  I  do,  ntirely. 


AMONG  THE   BREAKERS.  Ill 

Biddy.     Away  wid  ye's  nonsense  —  don't  I  tell  ye. 
Enter  Mother  Caret,  c.  —  Biddy  jumps  up  /  runs^  l. 

Biddy  (l.),     0,  murther!  who's  that? 

Lnrry  (l.).     Aisy,  Biddy ;  it's  only  Mother  Carey. 

Mother  Carey  (comes  doion).  Man,  why  sit  you  idle 
Lere  ?  See  you  not  the  black  storm  clouds  gathering  in 
the  west  ?  Hear  you  not  the  whistling  of  the  winds  that 
creep  across  the  sea  ?  the  roar  of  the  breakers  on  the 
rocks  ?  the  seething  of  the  waves  along  the  beach  ?  The 
storm  fiend  is  abroad,  and  no  warning  light  in  yondel 
tower.     Away  !  away  !  ere  'tis  too  late. 

Larry.  By  me  sowl,  you're  right.  A  storm  comin*, 
and  the  lights  not  lit  I  O,  Biddy,  Biddy  I  it's  all  youj 
work !  lExity  O 

Mother  G.  (to  Biddy).  Ah,  a  new  face  in  the  old 
lighthouse.  Fresh  and  fair,  buxom  form,  and  strong 
arm.     Who  are  you  ? 

Biddy.  If  you  plase,  marm  —  misses  —  Carey,  Tm 
nobody  —  yes,  I  mane  I'm  Biddy  Bane ;  come  down  from 
the  city  to  do  housework  for  Misther  Murray. 

Mother  G.     But  you  tremble.     Is  it  with  fear  ? 

Biddy.     Yes,  marm  —  no,  marm  I 

Mother  G.  You  need  not  fear  me,  Biddy.  I'm  a  poor 
old  woman,  with  little  strength,  and  no  power  to  harm 
you. 

Biddy.     Yes,  marm ;  but  Larry  says  you're  a  witch  I 

Mother  G.  He  does  I  Ha,  ha !  a  witch  I  Well,  well, 
Larry's  clever,  but  don't  believe  all  he  says,  tliough  he 
f-raises  the  brightness  of  your  eyes  and  the  tint  of  your 
clieeks.     A  witch,  incteea  I     I^arry's  a  fool  I 


Hi  AMONO    THE    BREAKERS. 

Enter  Larry,  c. 

Larry,  Fm  obleeged  to  yer  for  the  complimeut,  M:  Ibct 
Carey,  long  life  to  ye's.     {Gomes  down  l.  of  Biddy.) 

Mother  G.  What  nonsense  have  you  been  telling  this  girl  ? 

Larry.  Ton  me  sowl,  no  nonsinse  at  all.  I  told  hei 
ye*s  towlJ  fortunes  and  fates  ;  but  barrin'  that  little  touch 
of  owld  Satan,  I'll  swear  ye've  a  warm  heart,  to  which 
same  many  a  poor  tar  can  tistify  who's  been  Lilped  by 
yer  when  driven  ashore. 

Mother  G,     Where's  the  master  to-night,  Larry  ? 

Larry.  The  masther,  is  it?  Oflf  on  one  uv  hia 
thramps.  He  takes  a  moighty  dale  uv  ixircise  for  one 
wid  a  shmall  appetite. 

Mother  G.  {to  herself).  Restless  as  the  sea ;  pacing 
the  sands  for  hours  ;  wandering  among  the  rocks  —  a 
stern,  gloomy,  mysterious  man  ;  within,  a  storm  of  evil 
passions  blinding  his  soul  to  all  outward  beauty  ;  revenge 
flashing  up  among  the  dying  embers  of  a  fierce  life,  to  be 
smothered  by  the  ashes  of  remorse.  Bad!  bad  I  badl 
{Turns  up  stage.) 

Biddy.  I  say,  Misther  Larry,  would  ye  be  afther 
axing  her  to  till  my  fortune  jist? 

Larry.  To  be  sure  I  would.  I  say,  Mother  Carey, 
this  is  Biddy  Bane.  Would  ye's  be  afther  tilling  hei 
fortune  ? 

Mother  G.  Give  me  your  hand,  child.  {Tdke% 
Biddy's  hand.)     A  fair,  smooth  hand. 

Larry.  Bedad,  that's  thrue,  onyhjw  That's  ivhal 
I  said.     Biddy,  said  I  — 

Biddy.     Howld  yer  pate. 


AKONG    TftE   BKEAKEBS.  IIS 

Mother  G  Silence !  A  fair,  young  hand ;  the  linei 
&f  fate  but  indistinct,  yet  foreshadowing  good  fortune  — 
ah  !  I  see  a  lover  not  far  off. 

Larry,     Bedad,  Biddy,  he's  close  at  yer  elbow. 

Biddy.     Whist  yer  blarney  !     Yell  sphoil  the  charnio 

Mother  G,     I  see  a  little  home  on  the  rocks. 

Larry,     "  A  cottage  by  the  say  "  —  d'ye  mind,  Biddy  F 

Mother  G.     Troops  of  children  — 

Larry.  Young  Larrys  and  Biddys,  bedad,  and  a  pig 
» —  d*ye  say  a  pig  ? 

Biddy.     Be  aisy,  Masther  Larry. 

Larry.  Look  for  the  pig.  Don't  ye's  hear  him 
Bqualin'  ? 

David  (outside^  c).     Hallo!     Larry!  Larry  I 

Larry.  There's  the  masther.  Ay,  ay,  sir !  {Going 
towards  door.)  A  lover,  an'  a  cottage  !  —  Mother  Carey, 
jist  find  that  pig  in  Biddy's  hand,  or  there's  no  luck  in 
the  fortune,  sure. 

Biddy.  The  masther's  coming,  and  the  table  not 
cleared  1  (Battles  among  the  dishes  at  table  —  Motheb 
Carft  retires  up,  r.  c.) 

Enter  David,  c. 

David.  The  boat's  sawing  her  rope  across  the  rock. 
Quick,  or  she'll  be  adrift ! 

Larry.     Ay,  ay,  sir  1  lExit^  O. 

David.  There's  a  yacht  beating  around  the  point ;  no 
time  to  spare  ;  yet  she's  quick,  and  I  think  will  make  it. 
That  girl,  Bess  Starbright,  has  put  off  in  her  wherry,  feaiw 
less  of  danger,  to  lend  a  helping  hand.  How  is  this,  girl, 
the  table  not  cleared? 

a 


114  AMONG   THE    BREAKERS. 

Biddy.  Indade,  sir,  I  couldn't  help  it.  Mother  Carej 
here  was  tilling  my  fortune  jist. 

David.  Ah,  Mother  Carey,  still  at  youi  old  tricks,  do- 
i^eiving  the  credulous  with  your  boasted  power.  Out  oq 
you,  silly  old  fool  1     Girl,  bring  a  light ! 

Biddy.      To  be  sure  I  will.  \^Uxit^  B. 

Mother  G.  Better  a  fool  than  a  knave,  David 
Murray. 

Damd.     What's  that? 

Mother  G.  Boasted  power!  David  Murray,  you 
sneer,  but  I  have  the  power  to  drive  the  flush  from  your 
cheek,  to  make  your  knees  tremble,  and  your  heart 
quake  with  fear,  silly  old  fool  that  I  am.  I  deceive !  You 
say  this  I  you,  whose  whole  life  is  a  deliberate  lie  I 

David.     What  know  you  of  me  ? 

Mother  G.  Look.  (Takes  cup  from  table.)  What 
see  you  here? 

David.     Pshaw  !  that's  an  old  trick,  Mother  Carey. 

Mother  G.     What  see  you  here  ? 

David.     Nothing  ;  an  empty  cup. 

Mother  G.  You're  right ;  an  empty  cup  :  yet  as  I  look 
into  it,  David  Murray,  it  fills  with  tiny  clouds  that  float 
Bud  roll  together ;  now  expand,  divide,  and  vanish,  dis- 
closing a  picture  of  the  past.  A  room  luxuriantly  fur- 
nished. On  a  bed  lies  an  old  man,  thin,  pale,  wasted 
with  fever.  His  eyes  are  fastened  upon  a  young  man, 
who  watches  at  his  side.  He  is  dying.  See !  a  door 
opens ;  a  figure  appears,  in  form  and  features  so  like  the 
old  man,  'tis  plain  it  is  his  son.  He  approa(;hes  the 
bed.  The  dying  man's  face  flushes.  He  starts  up, 
wises  1  is  band,  as  though  he  would  bless  —  No,  no,  thai 


JLMONQ   THE    BREAKERS.  Ill 

angry  gesture !  it  is  a  curse,  a  bitter  curse  !  and  now  na 
falls  back  dead  —  dead  —  dead. 

David  (agitated).  Woman,  or  fiend!  where  learnt 
you  this? 

Mcther  G.  (still  gazing  into  the  cup).  Silence  !  The 
clouds  gather  again  —  thicker  —  thicker  —  thicker  — 
and  now  they  separate  and  vanish.  There's  the  son 
again.  A  woman  clings  about  his  neck,  begging,  en- 
treating, praying.  Useless ;  there's  an  evil  look  in  hia 
eye,  a  wicked  purpose  in  his  heart.  He  pushes  her 
away.  Again — prayers,  entreaties.  Wretch!  accursed 
wretch  !  She  ^  is  his  wife  ;  but,  with  a  horrid  oath,  he 
turns  and  'fells  her  to  the  ground ! 

David  (agitated).  Ha,  ha!  paint  away,  old  Mother 
Dragon !  Your  pictures  begin,  and  end  as  they  began, 
in  smoke.     Well,  what  next  ? 

Mother  G,  Again  they  gather  —  thicker  —  thicker 
—  thicker.  Again  they  roll  away  and  vanish.  Ah,  'tis 
the  other  now  —  the  young  man  who  closed  the  eyes  of 
the  dying. 

David  (aside),     Bruce  Hunter  ! 

Mother  G,  He  sits  beside  a  cradle.  In  it  sleeps  a 
child  —  a  pretty  little  girl,  rosy  cheeks,  long  lashes,  curly 
hair.  How  pretty  she  is  !  The  man  rises,  listens,  then 
leaves  the  room.  Now  a  window  opens  ;  a  man  appears ; 
his  face  is  hidden  by  a  veil  He  stealthily  approaches 
the  cradle ;  raises  the  child  in  his  arms.  Heavens  I 
where  is  the  father?  He  moves  towards  the  window. 
Now  he  stops,  listens,  then  raises  the  veil.  I  see  hi* 
face.     Merciful  Heaven  !  it  is  — 

David  (dashing  the  cup  from  her  hand).     Fool!  at 


116  AMONG    THE    BREAKERS. 

more  of  your  jugglery !  Away  I  Home,  and  paint 
pictures  in  your  own  tea-cups.  Spread  them  before 
women  weak  enough  to  listen  to  the  ravings  of  a 
crazy  old  fool. 

Mother  G.  Crazy.  Right,  David,  I  am  crazy.  My 
brail  snapped  one  night,  long,  long  ago,  and  so  Fm 
crazy  ;  ha,  ha !  You*ve  read  much,  David,  though  ycu 
are  but  a  poor  lightkeeper.  You  remember  the  story 
of  the  old  archer  who  went  mad  when  the  no  We  de- 
stroyed his  daughter.  They  laughed  at  his  ravingSj 
but  they  found  that  when  he  bent  his  bow  his  arrow 
flew  straight  to  the  mark.  Poor,  old,  crazy  archer  I 
Fm  just  like  him,  David,  crazy,  as  you  say,*  but  m^ 
arrows  always  fly  straight  to  the  mark,  straight  to  the 
mark.  [^Exit,  c. 

Enter  Biddy,  r.,  with  a  candle^  which  she  places  on 
table  J  and  carries  dishes  off^  R.,  leaving  a  pitcher  of  water 
and  two  tumblers  on  table, 

David  (^pacing  the  stage).  Who  is  this  woman? 
After  fifteen  years'  silence,  has  an  avenging  Heaven 
put  into  the  mouth  of  an  old  hag  daggers  to  pierce  my 
conscience  ?  Is  she  a  witch  ?  My  father's  death-bed  — 
my  deserted  wife  —  Hunter's  child  —  she  saw  them  all. 
They  came  at  her  call ;  faded  at  her  bidding.  Wretch 
that  I  am,  I  can  conjure  them,  but  they  never  disap- 
pear, —  never.  Yet  I  was  right.  The  old  man  wronged 
rae ;  cut  me  off  from  the  possession  of  his  wealth  — 
mine  by  right.  My  wife  oflfended  me  with  her  re- 
proaches and  entreaties  ;  and  Hunter,  curse  him,  robbed 
lae  of  a  father's  love;  coiled  his  flattering  tongue  aboui 


AMONG    THE    BREAKERS.  117 

fcbe  old  man's  heart,  and,  like  a  spaniel,  licked  his  wa^ 
to  favor.  What  should  have  been  miue  became  his. 
He,  the  pauper's  son,  slipped  into  my  inheritance 
But  I  was  revenged.  I  snatched  his  darling  from  hei 
cradle  lilteeu  years  ago,  and  since  that  time  father 
and  child  have  never  met.  Yonder  breakers,  with  their 
angry  voices,  tell  no  tales ;  and  yet  I  dare  not  face 
them,  for  on  their  crests  I've  seen  amid  the  storm  the 
features  of  a  little  child,  with  sad,  sad  eyes,  come  and 
go,  come  and  go.  O  Heavens !  if  I  could  but  shut  out 
that  sight,  close  those  eyes  that  haunt  me  everywhere. 
Revenge  is  sw^et,  indeed,  but  remorse  is  terrible  to 
bear.  (Sits  on  bench,  l.,  and  covers  his  face  with  his 
hands.  —  Knock  at  door,  c. ;  a  pause ;  knock  again. 
The  door  opens,  and  Scud  sticks  his  head  in.) 

Scud,  Am  anybody  to  home,  hey?  (Enters,  with 
a  lunch-basket  on  his  arm,)  Not  a  soul.  Eberybody 
gone  a  fishin'.  (Sees  David.)  No,  dar's  an  individle  in 
solitary  conflection.  (Steps  tip,  and  touches  him  on 
shoulder,  David  looks  up,)  Yes,  sir,  ax  yer  pardon, 
sir.     Am  de  lady  ob  de  house  disumgaged? 

David,     The  lady  of  the  house  ?     There  is  none. 

Scud,  Shoo  !  what  dat  ?  no  lady  ?  Well  den,  whar'a 
de  widderer? 

David,     The  what? 

Scud.  De  widderer,  ob  coorse  ;  dar  was  a  lady  ob  ^e 
house,  —  nebber  heerd  ob  a  house  widout  one,  —  and 
if  she's  gone,  ob  coorse  she's  left  a  widderer  ;  one  ob  dem 
fellers  wid  a  bumbezine  round  his  stovepipe,  moaning, 
in  de  words  ob  de  sublime  poet,  — 

**  She  has  left  me  here  for  to  shed  a  tear, 
And  play  on  de  old  jawbone." 


U8  4MONG    THE    BREAKERS. 

David.  There's  no  lady,  no  widower.  I  am  the  mastei 
here.     Who  are  you  ?  and  what  do  you  want  ? 

Scud.  Who  are  I?  Shoo!  don't  you  know  me? 
Frought  eberybody  knew  me.  Why,  I'm  Scud,  de  capn's 
right  bower. 

David.  Then  spades  are  trumps.  Well,  who's  tha 
captain  ? 

Scud.  Who's  de  what?  Bless  my  soul,  whar  you 
tin  !  Don't  know  de  cap'n  !  Well,  well,  de  igromance 
ob  some  people  am  surprisin'.  Why,  de  cap'n  ob  de 
Pacer,  de  fastest  yacht  on  de  coast.  You  see,  Mr.  —  Mr. 
—  what  might  I  call  you  ? 

David.     You  might  call  me  Sir  —  that's  respectful. 

Scud.  Yaas,  exactly.  Well,  den,  Mr.  —  Mr.  —  Sar  — 
Mr.  Sar,  you  see  we  was  out  in  de  bay,  we  was,  me,  and 
de  capin,  and  Massa  Clarence,  and  Miss  Daze,  and  de 
yacht,  when,  by  golly,  afore  we  knowed  it,  up  rolled  de 
brack  clouds,  and  de  wind  blowed  four  ways  to  once  -^ 
north-east,  sow-west,  and  —  and  —  well  I  forgot  de  oder 
pints,  —  and  so  we  let  go  de  jib,  and  de  formast,  and  dft 
main  truck,  and  de  windlass,  and  de  mizzen  —  mizzen  — 
somethin',  —  let  *em  all  go,  and  den,  by  golly,  dem  ar 
winds  jist  took  dat  ar  yacht  and  laid  her  clear  up  onto 
de  beach  down  dar. 

David.     Ha!     Remarkable  gale. 

Scud.  Wan't  it?  Dat's  jest  what  I  tole  de  cap'n. 
Cap'n,  says  I  — 

David.  No  matter  what  you  told  the  cap'n.  What 
do  you  want  here  ? 

Scud.     Hey  ?     Jes  want  to  stay  here  all  night. 

David.  Well,  stay,  if  you  can  sleep  on  the  floor.  That'i 
%11  tlie  accommodation  you'll  get  here. 


AMONG  THE   BBEAKEBS.  11^ 

Scud.  Shoo  !  sleep  on  de  flo' !  What,  Massa  Clar- 
ence,  and  Miss  Daze,  and  de  cap'n  ?  Why,  dey  cotch 
dar  def  a  cold. 

Drf-ncZ.  You  don't  mean  to  say  your  whole  boat  load 
will  quarter  on  me? 

Scud.  Dat's  jes  what  I  mean.  Golly,  you  wouldn't 
go  for  to  leab  us  all  out  onto  de  rocks  to  be  devoured  by 
de  wild  beasts  ob  de  sea,  and  —  and  de  skeeters  —  would 
yer?  {Knock  at  door,  c.)  Here  dey  am.  (Throws 
open  door.)     Walk  right  in,  gemblems  and  ladies. 

Enter  Clarence,  c,  with  Miss   Daze   leaning   on   Ati 
arm,  —  Seats  her  in  chair,  L. 

Clarence.     You  succeeded  in  finding  shelter,  Scud. 
Scud.     Yaas,  sir ;  take  a  cheer,  sir. 

Enter  Hunter,  c. 

Hunter.     Good.     Any  port  in  a  storm. 

David  (starting  up.  —  Aside).  Bruce  Hunter !  and  be- 
neath my  roof! 

Scud.  Yaas,  sar  ;  found  a  port,  sure  nuff.  Dis  am  do 
master,  Mr.  —  Mr.  —  Sar. 

Hunter.  I  trust  you  will  excuse  this  intrusion,  my 
friend.  The  storm  overtook  us,  and  we  were  forced  to 
land.  This  seems  to  be  the  only  house  on  the  point  at- 
tached to  the  light. 

David  (assuming  a  rough  manner,  and  with  his  hack  to 
Hunter).  Yes,  cap'n,  this  is  the  lightkeeper's  house, 
and  I  am  the  keeper.  Not  much  of  a  place,  as  you  see. 
You're  welcome  to  what's  here.  There's  no  beds,  noi 
nothing  to  eat,  so  make  yourself  comfortable.  (Turn* 
up  stage.) 


120  AMONG    THE    BREAKERS. 

Bvnter,  Thank  you,  friend,  we  will  do  our  Uest 
Beds  we  can  do  without  for  one  night ;  as  for  edibles, 
Scud  is  our  commissary. 

Scud.  Dat's  a  fac,  sure's  yer  born,  cap'n.  I  toted  de 
lunch-box  along.  We'll  soon  fix  'em  all  right.  (Goet 
to  table,  opens  hashet,  and  takes  out  plates^  saucers,  and 
food,) 

Hunter.     Friend,  will  you  eat  with  us  ? 

David  (^fiercely).  Eat  with  you?  (Changes.)  No, 
I'm  obliged  to  you,  I'm  not  hungry.  I  must  look  to  my 
light.  (^Goes  to  door,  c.  —  Aside.)  Eat  with  him! 
Never  !     The  food  would  choke  me.  [^Exit,  C. 

Hunter.     Our  host  seems  anything  but  sociable. 

Clar.  A  rough  customer.  Scud,  what  did  you  say  to 
him  ?     I'm  afraid  you  were  rough  spoken. 

Scud.  Shoo  !  I  ?  Why,  Massa  Clarence,  Ts  a  lamb. 
I  jes  axed  him  if  de  lady  ob  de  house,  or  de  widderer, 
was  to  home,  and  tole  him  we  was  comin'  —  dat's  all. 

Clar.  Ah,  Scud,  you  should  polish  up  your  manners. 
You'll  never  lose  anything  by  politeness.  You  should 
have  flattered  him  a  little. 

Scud.  Flattered  him  ?  By  golly,  he'd  a  flattened  me 
in  a  jiffy,  I  tole  yer. 

Clar,  You  don't  understand.  You  should  have 
praised  his  house,  the  neatness  of  this  rDom,  his  appear 
ance,  before  proffering  your  request.  In  such  a  situation 
as  this  a  little  tact  goes  a  great  way. 

Scud.  Y'aas,  sar.  Some  ob  de  hard  tact  in  dis  yei 
basket  been  goin'  free  or  four  voyages. 

Hunter.  Ha,  ha !  Clarence,  your  lesson  will  bi 
Qirown  avray  upon  Scud. 


AMONG   THE    BREAKERS.  121 

Clar.  The  squall  has  driven  us  into  queer  quart errf, 
father. 

Hunter,  No  matter,  my  boy,  as  long  as  we  are  not 
driven  among  the  breakers,  we  should  be  thankful  we 
have  escaped  the  storm.  (^Lightning.)  Ah,  here  it 
comes .     (  Thunder. ) 

Minnie  (uith  a  drawl),  I  declare,  Uncle  Chawles,  this 
b  positively  delightful.  So  romantic  !  to  be  swept  along 
by  the  fury  of  the  blast,  lashed  by  the  heaving  billows, 
tossed  like  a  tiny  chip  at  the  will  of  the  sportive  winds, 
and  at  last  left  like  shipwrecked  mariners  upon  a  deso- 
late island. 

Scud.  Dat's  a  fac,  an'  a  disolute  lighthouse-keeper  a 
growlin'  into  de  bargain.    (^Lightning^  thunder^  and  rain,) 

Hunter,  Not  so  bad  as  that,  Minnie.  We  have  seen 
at  least  one  inhabitant.  It's  too  bad  to  deprive  you  of 
a  pleasant  sail,  and,  what's  worse,  condemn  you  to  pas« 
the  night  in  this  desolate  house. 

Minnie,  Now  don't,  Uncle  Chawles.  I  do  so  love 
adventure.  This  is  just  for  all  the  world  like  a  novel. 
Let  me  see,  what  shall  we  call  it  —  "  The  Castaway 
Yachters?" 

Clar.     Or  "  The  Drenched  Duck." 

Hunter,     With  you  as  the  heroine,  Minnie. 

Minnie,  No,  I  escaped  that.  How  can  you,  Uncle 
Chawles,  break  all  my  pretty  bubbles  of  romance  with 
your  sarcasm. 

Hunter,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Minnie,  if  I  broke  an)  - 
thing.  Let's  all  break  fast ;  that  will  offend  nobody. 
Beady,  Scud? 

Scud,      Yes,   Bar;    dap's   biled   chicken,   biled   ham« 


122  AMONG   THE   BREAKERS. 

tiled    toDgue    hard    biled   eggs  —  eberyting   but   biled 
taters  —  and  dar's  — 
Bes8  (outside J  sings), 

**  A  wet  sheet  and  a  flowing  sea, 
And  a  wind  that  follows  fast, 
And  fills  the  wide  and  rustling  sail, 
And  bends  the  gallant  mast."  ♦ 

There,  mind  your  steps,  messmate ;  here,  give  me  your 
baud.  Now,  a  long  pull,  and  a  strong  pull,  and  a  pull 
all  together.  Here  we  are,  in  port  at  last.  (^Doot 
opens^  c. —  Lightning  tcpon  Bess  an  instant  in  the  door^ 
way^  then  she  enters,  followed  by  Paragraph.  —  Thunder 
and  rain,) 

Paragraph  (shutting  up  his  umbrella).  The  heavens  be 
praised ! 

Bess,  Here,  Mr.  Murray,  I've  brought  you  —  Hallo  I 
strangers  I 

Hunter.     Why,  it's  our  old  friend  Paragraph. 

Paragraph,  What !  the  Hon.  Bruce  Hunter  ?  Sir,  yours 
lespectfully.  (^Shake  hands.)  Master  Clarence,  yours 
truly.  (Shake  hands.)  Miss  Daze,  one  of  the  sweetest 
days  of  my  life,  yours  devotedly.  (Shake  hands.)  Scud, 
black  cloud  of  the  evening,  how  are  you?  (Scud 
grins.) 

Bess,     Why,  you  seem  to  have  fallen  among  friends. 

Paragraph.  Exactly.  Allow  me  —  Hon.  Bruce  Hunter, 
Miss  Bess  Starbright,  the  rover  of  the  seas ;  Miss  Minnie 
Daze,  Miss  Bess  Starbright,  the  bright  star  of  the  bay  ;  Mr, 
Clarence  Hunter,  Miss  Bess  Starbirght,  the  preserver  of 
tliis  Paragraph.     (All  interchange  greetings.) 

*  Or  any  nautical  song 


AMONG   THE   BREAKERS.  12S 

8 cud  (aside),  I)at  ar  Paragraph  ain't  got  jo  stop 
ko  it. 

Paragraph,  And  now  stop.  Busine;5s  before  pleasure. 
{Pulls  out  a  note  hook^  and  writes.)  '*  The  storm  spirit 
abroad.  Terrific  peril  of  our  own  correspondent.  Afloai 
in  a  leaky  boat.  A  wrecked  writer  and  a  spunky 
heroine.  Peril  and  privation.  Kescue  and  relief/* 
How's  that  for  a  heading? 

Hunter,     Heading  for  what,  pray? 

Paragraph,  The  news  column  of  The  Roaring  Ram- 
page, of  which  highly  influential  journal  I  am  the  duly 
accredited  roving  correspondent. 

Minnie,  Why,  bless  me,  Mr.  Paragraph,  last  week 
you  were  an  artist. 

Paragraph,  Exactly,  last  week,  as  you  say  ;  this  week, 
genius  has  taken  a  new  flight.  Literature  is  above  art. 
Consequently  I  have  dropped  the  brush,  and  taken  up 
the  pen.  All  day  I  have  been  in  search  of  an  item.  This 
morning  I  heard  of  a  prize  fight,  and  hastened  to  report 
it.  Reached  the  ground,  placed  myself  in  a  capital  posi- 
tion to  witness  the  set-to,  when  I  was  ignominiousl^ 
hustled  from  the  ground  by  friends  of  the  contending  par- 
ties. Then  rushed  off  to  report  a  dog  fight,  but,  alas  I 
the  dogs  wouldn't  fight,  but  flew  among  the  spectators, 
and  I  hurriedly  left.  Then  I  took  a  boat  to  board  an 
incoming  steamer.  Boat  leaked,  squall  came  on,  boat 
upset ;  cl'-ng  to  the  keel  until  succor,  in  the  shape  of  that 
dear  little  girl  with  the  tarpaulin  hat,  tore  me  from  my 
flail  support  and  landed  me  here,  wet,  hungry,  and  minus 
the  news.  Bless  her,  she's  a  trump.  I  was  a  foregone 
conclusion,  a  Paragraph  cut  short,  but  for  her.  Henre' 
forth  I  am  her  slave. 


124  AMONG   THE   BREAKERS. 

Bess  (seating  herself  on  hox^  l.  c).  Well,  I  neve^ 
What  a  fuss  about  nothing. 

Paragraph.  Nothing?  Hear  her;  hear  the  bold  rover  of 
the  seas.  To  have  saved  the  life  of  Peter  Paragraph  she 
calls  nothing. 

Bess,  Why,  bless  you,  Mr.  What's-your-name,  I  hava 
pulled  twenty  fellows  out  of  the  water  in  the  last  ten 
years.  It's  no  trouble.  I  was  found  in  the  water.  Ever 
since  I  could  pull  an  oar,  I've  had  a  boat  and  lived  on  the 
water.  I  know  every  inch  of  the  coast,  every  turn  of  the 
weather,  the  depth  of  every  part  of  the  bay,  and  when  1 
see  a  boat  in  distress,  what  more  natural  than  for  me  to 
put  out.     Pooh  !  there's  no  danger  ;  it's  just  fun. 

Hunter.  Your  hand,  my  brave  girl.  You  have  saved 
our  friend,  and,  though  you  treat  the  matter  lightly,  'lis 
a  stout  heart  that  would  brave  the  storm  in  such  a  cockle 
shell  as  yours. 

Paragraph.  My  sentiments  exactly.  Miss  Starbright, 
such  heroism  as  yours  deserves  reward.  (^Kneeling.) 
Here  on  my  knees  I  offer  you  my  hand. 

Bess,  Your  hand?  What  for?  I  don't  need  it.  I 
can  climb  trees  like  a  squirrel,  pull  ten  miles  without 
rest  —  what  do  I  want  of  your  hand. 

Paragraph.  But  you  do  not  understand.  I'm  rich, 
I  can  place  you  in  a  situation  where  pulling  and  climbing 
are  not  necessary.     I  offer  you  my  hand  in  marriage. 

Bess.  Marriage  !  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  that's  too  good.  You 
marry  me  —  Mother  Carey's  chicken? 

Paragraph.  Yes,  were  you  Mother  Carey's  old  rooster 
Fd  marry  you. 

Bess.     Ha,  ha,  ha  I     O,  take  him  away,    somebody. 


AMONG    THE    BREAKEBS.  125 

do  !  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  I  shall  die,  I  kuow  I  shall  I  F>ery 
man  I  pull  out  of  the  water  wants  to  marry  me  ,  bat  as 
Boon  as  their  clothes  are  dry,  off  they  go,  and  "  nevei 
come  back,  never  come  back,  they  never  come  back 
to  me."  I  say,  Mr.  Paragraph,  don't  let's  talk  of  mar^ 
riage.  If  you're  my  slave,  find  me  something  to  eat. 
I'm  awful  hungry. 

Hunter.  Here's  plenty.  (Hunter,  Clarence,  aiid 
Paragraph  run  to  tahle^  take  plate  of  lunchy  and  crowd 
around  Bess.) 

Hunter        ^  f  Allow  me,  a  slice  of  tongue. 

Paragraph   f-togetherA  Allow  me,  a  slice  of  ham. 

Clarence      J  L  Allow  me,  a  little  cold  chicken. 

Bess,  La !  how  polite  I  But  I  can't  eat  it  all,  you 
know.  (Looks  at  Clarence.  —  Aside.)  O,  my !  what 
a  splendid  fellow  !  {Aloud^  to  Clarence.)  Thank  you, 
I'm  very  fond  of  chicken.  (Takes  plate  from  him,  — 
Hunter  and  Paragraph  return  to  table,  —  Clarence 
seats  himself  beside  Bess  on  the  box,) 

Minnie  (aside).  Heroism  has  won  the  day.  They 
have  quite  forgotten  poor  me.  (Aloud,)  Ahem  !  /  am 
very  fond  of  cold  chicken. 

Paragraph  (going  to  her  with  plate).  Good  gracious  I 
has  nobody  thought  of  you  ?  (Hunter  sits  at  table,  and 
eats,) 

Minnie,  Thanks.  'Tis  sweet  to  be  remembered,  evea 
by  a  false  one. 

Paragraph,  False  one?  (Aside,)  What  have  I  done ? 
A  year  ago  I  offered  her  my  hand,  which  she  accepted, 
^  and  to-day,  in  her  presence,  I've  gone  and  offered  it 
U)  this  sea  nymph.  It's  bigamy  —  circumstantial  bigamy 
{Aloud,)     My  dear  Minnie  — 


126  AMONG    THE    BREAKERS. 

Minnie,  No,  I'm  not  your  dear  Minnie.  You  art 
false.  We  have  plighted  vows  together,  and  youVe 
broken  them  before  my  eyes. 

FaragrapJu  No,  no.  I  must  show  my  gratitude  lo 
the  preserver  of  my  life,  you  know,  and  what  more  nat- 
aral  than  to  "  offer  her  this  hand  of  mine."  She  didn't 
take  it,  and  I  shan't  offer  it  again.  But  you,  you  are 
the  ideal  of  my  soul,  the  loadstone  of  my  existence,  the 
object  of  ray  adoration  !  dearer  to  my  heart  than  — 

Scud  {comes  down  with  plate).  Biled  ham.  Miss 
Daze? 

Minnie,  No,  I  thank  you.  Scud.  (Scud  retires  up,) 
0,  Peter,  you  know  my  weakness  for  cultivated  society. 
I  thought  you  would  take  your  place  among  noble  artists. 
I  find  you  have  changed.  You  have  taken  to  literary  pur- 
suits. At  the  first  mention  of  new  aspirations,  my  heart 
fluttered  and  1  pictured  a  bright  future  for  you  among  the 
noble  wielders  of  the  classic  pen,  but  with  one  blow  you 
have  dashed  my  hopes,  and  I  find  you  false  as  the  fickle 
moon,  as  hard-hearted  as  — 

Scud  (coming  down  with  plate),  Biled  eggs.  Miss 
Daze? 

Minnie,  No,  I  thank  you,  Scud.  (Scud  returns  to 
table,) 

Paragraph,  Don't,  Minnie,  don't.  You'll  break  my 
heart.  Do  not  spurn  me  for  a  thoughtless  jest.  You 
alone  are  my  own  dear,  loved,  tender  — 

Scud  (coming  down  with  plate).  Chicken,  Massa  Par- 
agraph ? 

Paragraph,  Confound  it,  no  I  Go  awaj"  with  ycui 
•enseless  bawblcs. 


AMONG   THE    BRRAKFRS.  121 

Scud.  Bawbles?  Yes,  I  guess  not,  Massa  Para- 
graph. It's  chick'n ;  cook  'iin  myself.  Have  some, 
Miss  Starbright? 

Bs8$.  iJo,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Scud.  I'm  very  well 
Beltled. 

Scud  (aside).  Misser  Scud !  Now  der's  a  lady. 
Bress  her  bright  eyes,  and  hansom'  as  a  picter.  Jea 
look  at  Massa  Clarence !  He's  smashed,  clean  gone. 
Settled  —  golly,  she's  settled  him  sure  nuff.  (Returns  to 
table,) 

Clarence,  But,  Miss  Starbright,  'tis  but  a  rough  life 
after  all.  Our  ladies  in  the  city  find  their  enjoyment  in 
the  dance,  the  ride,  the  care  of  flowers,  needlework,  and 
other  delicate  and  refining  pastimes.  Here  you  have 
no  company  save  the  rough  sailors  and  fishermen  of  the 
coast.     Here  you  are  out  of  the  world. 

Bess.  You  think  so  ?  Why,  this  place  is  a  world  in 
itself.  Before  us  is  the  wide  ocean ;  behind,  smooth 
plains  ;  beyond  that,  the  hills,  with  their  wooded  fronts  ; 
here  around  us,  the  bold  headland,  the  jutting  point,  roar- 
ing breakers  and  rippling  waves,  jagged  rocks  and  smooth 
beach ;  above,  the  heavens,  now  studded  with  stars,  anon 
sombre  and  black,  or  cut  by  swift  lightnings.  All  forma 
of  nature  centre  here.  There's  much  of  the  awful,  and 
much  of  the  sublime.  Yet  'tis  the  dearest  spot  on  earth, 
for  'tis  my  home.  Rough  is  the  life  I  lead,  'tis  true,  but 
here  are  no  temptations  to  assail ;  and  I've  one  true  heart 
on  which  to  lean  —  could  I  ask  for  more  ? 

Clarence.  Indeed,  but  'tis  a  blessed  spot,  and,  as  you 
picture  it,  it  seems  like  a  magic  realm,  one  of  tliose 
(kbled   grottos,    made  to    enclose  a  priceless  gem,    fof 


J  28  AMONG   THE    BREAKERS. 

whose  possession  princes  strove.  Here  you  are  the  gem. 
May  I  not  be  the  prince? 

Bess  {aside).  I  never  met  such  a  splendid  fellow. 
0,  dear  !  and  he*ll  go  away  to-morrow.  {Aloud,)  Hark  1 
What's  that? 

Mother  (7.  {outside),     Bess!  Bess!  my  child! 

Biss  {starting  up),  O,  there's  my  mother!  H»re, 
mother,  here. 

Enter  Mother  Carey,  c.  —  Bess  runs  into  her  arms. 

Mother  G.  Safe,  safe,  my  child !  *Twas  a  rough  gale. 
I  feared  for  your  safety. 

Bess.  Never  fear  for  me,  mother.  My  boat  is  tight, 
and  my  arms  are  strong.  Come,  let  me  introduce  you 
to  my  new  friends.  {Situation :  Clarence  seated  on 
the  bench,  L.  Mr.  Hunter  stands  talking  with  him. 
Miss  Daze,  r.  Paragraph  talking  with  her.  Scud 
at  table,  putting  away  food,  Bess  and  Mother  Caret, 
C.)     Mr.  Hunter? 

Hunter.     Well,  Miss  Bess  ? 

Bess.     My  mother. 

Mother  G,  {grasping  Bess,  and  glaring  at  Hunter). 
No,  no !  not  that  name  I  Hunter  I  {^iside.)  What 
does  he  here?  Have  the  wolf  and  the  lamb  met  at 
last. 

Bess,  Don't  mind  her,  sir.  The  sight  of  a  new  fac« 
J9  very  apt  to  agitate  her. 

Hunter.  Yeiy  glad  to  meet  you,  madam,  to  tell  you 
how  much  we  owe  your  brave  daughter. 

Mother  G,  Yes,  Bess  is  a  good  girl.  A  daughter  to 
be  proud  of. 


AMONG   THE    BREAKERS.  12d 

Bess,  No^  don't  make  me  blush,  mother.  Mr.  Hun- 
ter a  id  his  yATty  were  driven  ashore.  They  are  to  pasa 
the  nrght  heit?. 

MoUer  0,  Here  beneath  this  roof?  Better  the  cold 
Bands  br  a  bed,  the  heavens  for  a  shelter,  than  this 
place. 

Huf^^ter,     What  mean  you? 

Mot\  r  0".     Show  me  your  hand. 

Bess,  Mother  is  a  fortune-teller,  Mr.  Hunter.  She  is 
called,  hj  the  good  people  who  visit  here,  a  witch.  I 
can  asswwe  you  she  sometimes. makes  wonderful  proph- 
ecies. 

Scud.  A  witch  I  O  Lord  I  she  takes  de  kink  right 
out  ob  my  har. 

Hunter,  My  good  woman,  I  have  very  little  faith  in 
predictions,  yet  here's  my  hand,  if  you  wish. 

Mother  G,  (taking  his  hand),  A  good  hand.  There's 
fortune  here.  Fame,  too,t —  the  lines  straight,  dis- 
tinct, —  but  here's  a  dark  line  I  like  not  —  a  vein  of 
trouble  among  the  fortunate  lines.  There's  a  lifelong 
pain  at  your  heart.     Am  I  not  right? 

Hunter.  You  are.  Fifteen  years  ago  I  lost  a  daugh* 
ter  —  stolen  from  her  cradle. 

Mother  G,     And  never  found? 

Hunter,     Never. 

Mother  G.     And  yet  you  know  the  thief? 

Himter,     I  do. 

Mother  G,     An  enemy? 

Htmter,  The  only  enemy  I  ever  had;  and  he  out 
*^iDm  I  never  wronged  by  deed  or  word. 

Mother  G,     Have  you  ever  searched  for  him? 
9 


ISO  AMONG   THE    BREAKERS. 

Hunter.  Every  effort  was  made  to  fiud  Ibe  child 
and  the  kidnapper,  but  all  in  vain,  and  at  last  I  came 
to  think  that,  out  of  his  deep  revenge,  he  h^d  de- 
stroyed the  child  and  himself. 

Mother  G.  You're  wrong.  The  child  still  lives  ;  wiU 
be  restored. 

Hunter,     Still  lives?     How  know  you  this? 

Mother   G.     I  read  it  in  your  hand. 

Hunter  (snatching  away  his  hand).  Pshaw  I  An 
idle  trick.  Woman,  'tis  wrong  to  trifle  with  tender 
emotions.     But,  'tis  your  trade. 

Mother  G,  My  trade !  Man,  the  knowledge  I  pos- 
segs  has  been  acquired  by  hard  experience,  and  patient 
study  of  the  ways  of  life.  I  tell  you,  he  who  so 
wronged  you  is  travelling  towards  you,  as  you,  all  un- 
wittingly, are  nearing  him.  As  sure  as  the  sun  shines, 
as  the  winds  blow,  as  the  waves  beat  upon  yonder 
rocks,  you  will  meet,  anc?,  in  that  meeting,  I  foretell 
happiness  for  you,  defeat  and  destruction  for  him. 
Mark  me.  Mother  Carey  tells  you  this  —  and  her  proph  - 
ecies  never  fail,  never. 
fO  Glarence.     Let  me  try  my  luck,  father. 

Mother  G.     Father?     Who  spoke  then? 

Glarence  (coming,  c).     'Twas  I,  mother.     Read  my 
' '  hand,  and  tell  me  my  fate. 

Mother  G,  (puts  her  arm  over  his  shoulder ,  takes  hii 
hand,  and  leads  him  down).  No,  no,  not  the  haid; 
let  me  read  it  in  your  face — fresh,  open,  honest;  a 
face  the  mother  should  be  proud  to  look  upon.  I  can 
easily  foretell  your  fortune  —  a  bright,  brave,  happ^ 
lil«.     Your  mother  — 


AMONG    THE    BREAKERS.  181 

Clarenct.      A.las !  she  died  when  I  was  very  youug. 

Mother  G,     Too  young  to  remember  her? 

Clarence.  No,  mother.  There's  just  a  glimpse  of  a 
loving  face  fastened  upon  my  memory,  which  ray 
father's  praises  of  her  goodness  have  fashioned  into  ao 
indefinable  presence,  that  is  always  with  me,  acting  on 
my  life,  keeping  me  from  wrong,  and  aiding  me  with 
high  aspirations,  a  radiant  image  so  pure  and  bright 
that  in  Lay  heart  I  call  it  by  the  tender  name  of 
mother. 

Mother  G.  {with  emotion).  Bless  you,  my  boy. 
Doubt  not,  wherever  she  is,  whether  in  this  world  or 
the  unseen,  her  love  still  guides  and  guards  your  life, 
(Clarence  retires  up  stage.) 

Hunter  {comes  down^  c.  —  Aside).  Now  to  test  her 
power.     {Aloud.)     Mother,  the  boy  called  me  father. 

Mother  G.  He  was  right.  You  have  reared,  pro- 
tected, loved  him — what  though  the  tie  of  birth  be 
wanting?  —  the  boy  is  right. 

Hu7iter  {aside).  She  is  a  witch.  {Aloud.)  But, 
the  mother? 

Mother  G.  Ask  me  no  more.  My  brain  grows 
weary,  and  the  thoughts  of  wrong  and  outrage  make 
my  soul  sick.  What  I  have  told  you  will  come  to 
pass.  Be  content,  and  wait  as  I  have  waited.  {Goes 
to  door^  c.)  The  wronger  and  the  wronged  shall  meet, 
and  when  they  do,  remember  Mother  Carey's  prophecy. 

lExit^  0. 

Scud.     By  golly,  she's  gone  off  on  a  brocmstick. 

Bess.  Well,  I  must  be  getting  home.  {Puts  an 
kiU.) 


132  AMONG   THE    BREASJBB8. 

j  If  Clarence,     Let  me  accompany  you. 

Be^^.     rm  not  a   bit    afraid;  and  bebid^is    haven't  1 

got  a  beau  already.     Here's  Mr.  Paragraph.     He*d  be 

mortally  offended  if  I  should  slight  him. 

/^\  Clarence.     O,   no,    he    wouldn't    mind    it.     You    see 

he's  very  busy  with  Miss  Daze.     He's  engaged  to  her. 

Bess,  What?  Engaged  to  her?  Why,  he  offered 
Liinself  to  me  a  little  while  ago.  Til  put  a  stop  to 
that.     Ahem  !    Mr.  Paragraph  ? 

Paragraph  (turns  to  c.  of  stage).  Well,  Miss  Star- 
bright  ? 

Bess,     A  glass  of  water,  if  you  please. 
/  L  Clarence,     Let  me  — 

Bess,  Stop !  Mr.  Paragraph  is  my  admirer,  I  may 
Bay,  my  affianced  husband,  as  he  offered  himself  to 
me,  and  I  did  not  refuse  him.  Mr.  Para  —  ah !  Peter 
■—a  glass  of  water. 

Paragraph,  Yes.  O  Lord  !  the  little  jade's  in  ear- 
nest.    Yes,  Miss  Bess.     Hot  or  cold? 

Bess,     Cold  for  me.     (^Aside.)     Hot  for  you,  I  guesa- 

Paragraph,     Yes,  I  go.      (^Starts  for  table,) 

Minnie,     Peter ! 

Paragraph,     Well,  dear?     {Returns  to  MiNNlE.) 

Minnie,     A  glass  of  water  for  me  first. 

Paragraph,     Certainly.     (^Ooing  to  table,) 

Bess.     Peter ! 

Paragraph  (returning).     Well,  Miss  Bess? 

Bess,     I  shall  expect  to  be  served  first. 

Paragraph.  Yes^  marm.  (Goes  to  table;  Jills  two 
flosses  ;  conies  down^  c, ;  looks  at  Minnie,  then  at  Bess  ; 
Hands  irresolute  a  moment^  then  starts  for  Minnie.) 


AMONG   THE    BREAKERS.  189 

Be(s.     Peter ! 

Paragraph,     O,  yes,  certainly  I     ( Turns  to  Bess.) 

Minnie,     Peter ! 

Paragraph.     Coming,  dear.     (Turns  to  Minnie.^ 

Bess.    I  protest.     (Paragraph  starts  /or  Bess."^ 

Minnie.    I  insist.     (Paragraph  turns  to  Mikniz) 

Minnie.l^^^^^, 

Bess.      } 

Paragraph  (stands  in  c.  of  stage,  falls  on  one  knse^ 
mid  stretches  out  his  hands  containing  the  jlasses  to 
Bess,  r.,  to  Minnie,  l.)  "  Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor 
young  man."     Ladies,  help  yourselves. 

Minnie  (jumps  up).  You're  a  false,  deceitful  man, 
and  ril  never  speak  to  you  again.     (Goes  up  stage.) 

Bess  (jumps  up).  Very  well,  JMr.  Paragraph,  I  re- 
lease you  from  your  engagement.  The  next  time  you 
are  shipwrecked,  don't  expect  me  to  save  you.  Come, 
Mr.  Clarence,  as  he  who  should  be  my  protector  has  de- 
serted me,  I  will  permit  you  to  see  me  home.  Good 
night,  all.     (At  door,  c.)     Peter ! 

Paragraph  (still  on  his  knees).     Miss  Bess  ! 

Bess.  *'  Henceforth  I  am  your  slave.'*  Ha,  ha,  ha  I 
You  make  a  capital  fountain.  Good  by,  (Exit,  c,  foU 
hived  by  Clarence.) 

Paragraph  (rising).  Betwixt  two  stools  I  fall  to  th« 
ground.     Here,  Scud. 

Scud.     Yaas,  Massa  Paragraph. 

Paragraph  (handing  him  a  glass).    Join  mo  in  a  toa«t 
llere'e  to  "  woman's  rights," 

**  To  torture  and  tease, 
To  do  just  as  they  please." 

l^Drinks ;  retires  wt 


1S4  AMONG   THE    BREAKEBfl. 

Scud.  Yaas,  Massa  Paragraph,  ebery  tine.  {DrinlcB.) 
(Aside.)    By  gollj,  dey  jes  cook  his  goose.    {Betiresup.) 

Enter  Labry,  r. 

Larry.  Beg  yer  pardin,  ladies  and  gints.  Would  be 
afther  takia'  a  look  at  the  lighthouse?  The  rain's 
stopped,  and  it's  only  a  stip. 

Minnie.  O,  yes !  Uncle  Chawles,  I  should  like  to 
•ee  the  interior  of  a  lighthouse. 

Hunter.  And  so  would  I.  What  say  you,  Para- 
graph? 

Paragraph.  Lighthouse?  Yes,  there's  a  chance  for 
an  item  there. 

Larry.  Thin  follow  me.  {Sees  ScuD.)  Hullo, 
nagar! 

Scud.     Hallo,  paddy  I 

Larry.  Begorra,  ye's  so  black  and  shiny,  I  thought 
'twis  the  avil  one  I 

Scud.   By  golly,  yer  fool !  Does  you  tink  I's  a  lookin'- 

Larry.     Ugh !  blarney  I  [^Exit,  c« 

Scud.     "  Shoo,  fly ;  don't  bodder  me !  " 

Hunter.  Come,  Minnie.  {Gives  her  his  arm,  and 
xtit,  C.) 

Paragraph.  She  turns  her  back  upon  me  without  a 
word,  and  goes  off  to  the  light,  perhaps  to  make  light 
^f  me.  Peter,  my  boy,  you've  been  a  fool.  Let  this  be 
a  warning  to  you.  Never  make  love  to  a  woman  when 
another's  in  sight.  \_Exit,  c. 

Scud.  Shoo  I  Triborlat'n  am  a  comin'  sartin  sure  I 
Dar's  a  Hibetnicum  in  de  house,  and  de  uat'ral  antipidiei 


AMONG    THE    BREAKERS.  185 

ob  de  African  persuas'n  for  dem  ar  fellers  is  a  risin  in  de 
inlestiues  ob  dis  yer  buzzim  !  Who  be  he  am  ?  Hey  ? 
What  ?  De  brack  blood  ob  forty-leben  ginnyologies  oh 
ancisters  and  ancisteresses  cries,  Away,  white  trash  !  Dar 
ain*t  no  asswassiation  to  be  fright  ob.  Til  jes  tell  de  cap'n, 
Whar's  de  towel?  Can't  put  away  de  plates  widcul 
wipin'  um,  and  I  ain't  got  no  towel. 

Enter  Biddy,  l. 

Biddy.  Where's  Misther  Larry  ?  {Sees  Scud.)  O, 
my  sowl  and  body,  who's  that  ? 

Scud,  I  want  — I  want —  Stop,  Scud.  Massa 
Clarence  tole  yer  to  be  'ticlarly  polite.  Dis  am  de  gal 
what  hab  de  towels.  See  me  I  now,  see  me  !  {Lays  his 
hand  on  his  hearty  hows  several  times^  and  ajpproaches 
Biddy.)     Sublimest  ob  your  sexes  ! 

Biddy.  How  Id  yer  blarney  jist.  It's  ashamed  I  am 
uv  the  loikes  uv  yer. 

Scud.  When  I  look  at  yer,  it  seem  jes  as  if  chahorse 
am  come  agin. 

Biddy.     Sure,  I  don't  know  who's  coom,  at  all,  at  all. 

Scud.     Y  ^u  hab  de  peach-blow  on  yer  cheek  — 

Biddy.     Will,  I  don't  know  what  ye  mane. 

Scud.  De  wermillion  hues  ob  de  sunflower  kermingla 
dar. 

Biddy.     Troth,  I  belave  he's  a  gorrilla 

Scud.     And  de  light  ob  affliction  am  in  yer  eye. 

Biddy.  O,  away  wid  ye's !  It's  hathen  Chinee  yei 
talk'n,  jist.     Where's  Misther  Larry? 

Scud.  Sweetest  ob  de  female  persuasion,  what  you 
tx  me? 


186  AMONG    THE    BREAKERS. 

Biddy.     Where's  Misther  Larry,  stupid? 

Scud.  Mister  Larry  Stupid  am  gone  a^vay.  Lidien 
to  me.  Gib  me  what  I  ax  yer.  (Falls  on  both  knees^ 
facmg  audience.)  Gib  me,  angeliferous  creture,  O,  gib 
me —     (^Takes  her  hand.) 

Enter  Larry,  c. 

Biddy.     Quit  aboult  uv  my  baud  ! 

Scud.  Don't  be  skeered  ;  it's  only  peliteness ;  and  I  ax 
yer,  gib  me,  O,  gib  me  —  (Larry  creeps  up  behind^ 
takes  him  by  the  nape  of  the  neck^  and  shakes  him.) 

Larry.  Ye  thafe  of  the  worrld.  {Shake.)  Ye  black 
hathen !     (Shake.) 

Scud.  Here,  you  up  dar !  Wha  —  wha  —  what  yer 
'bout  dar? 

Larry.  Troth,  ye'U  soon  find  out.  {Shake.)  Ye 
blackguard ! 

Scud.  Look  hyar,  Hibernicum ;  quit  foolin',  quit 
foolin'. 

Larry.  What  d'ye  mane  by  insultin'  the  swate^t  girl 
in  Fairpoint  ? 

Biddy.     Och,  it's  blushin'  I  am,  Masther  Larry. 

Scud.  You  jes  lef  dat  ar  coat  alone,  or  I'D  tell  yer 
mudder. 

Larry.  I'll  break  ivery  bone  in  yer  augly  carcass,  so 
I  wiU.     (Shake.) 

Scud,  You  jes  lef  me  be,  dat's  all.  Dis  am  a  free 
country. 

Larry.  An'  this  is  a  fray  fight.  Now,  nagar,  ye'U 
%x.  the  parthin  uv  Miss  Biddy  Bane  —  d'ye  mind  ? 

Scud.     Well,  I  ax  it.     Lef  me  be,  now. 


AMONG    TH£    bR£Al!L£BS.  LSI 

Larry.     An'  say,  I'm  a  black  — 

Scud,     You're  a  brack  — 

^arry.  What's  that ?  You  repate  afther  me.  Pin  a 
black  — 

Scud.     Dat's  what  I  said.     You're  a  brack  — 

Larry  (shaking  Mm).     Will  yer  mind  what  I  say? 

Scud.     Quit,  you  fool !  quit,  yon  fool !    I'm  a  brack  — 

Larry.     Ogly,  mischievous  owld  darkey  !  — 

Scud.     Ugly,  Miss  Cheever's  old  darkey !  — 

Larry.     An'  diserve  a  kickin',  so  I  do  I  — 

Scud.     And  deserve  a  kickin*,  so  I  do  I 

Larry.  Now  git  up,  an'  if  iver  I  find  ye's  demaning 
yersilf  afore  this  illigent  crather,  I'll  break  ivery  bone  in 
yer  ogly,  black  carkiss,  so  I  will. 

Scud  (rising).  Look  hyar,  Hibernicum  I  De  day  ob 
triberlation  am  a  comin' !  You  jes  look  out,  dat's  all. 
Mind  what  I  say,  de  day  ob  triberlation  am  a  comin',  and 
Scud  am  a  comin',  too. 

Larry.     Howld  yer  pate,  ye  black  son  uv  a  gun. 

Enter  Hunter,  c,  with  Minnie. 

Hunter.     Hallo  !  what's  the  matter  here  ? 

Scud.  Nuffin,  Massa  Cap'n.  I  was  axin  de  lady  for 
a  towel  —  dat's  all. 

Larry.  An'  he  got  a  wipe  uv  anither  kind  —  hey, 
Biddy? 

E7Uer  David,  c,  with  blankets  on  Ma  arm. 

David.  I'll  do  the  best  I  can  for  you,  captain.  Ycui 
ftiend  I've  already  disposed  of  for  the  night  in  the  light- 
house.    There's  a  room  above  for  the  lady,  a  small  roorn 


138  AMONG    THE    BREAKERS. 

ihere  ior  the  boy ;  here's  a  bench  and  blanket  for  you 
Yoxir  servant  can  go  to  the  light  with  Larry.  Sorry  1 
can't  do  better. 

Hunter,  Say  no  more,  friend.  We  shall  get  along 
very  comfortably. 

David.     Biddy,  show  the  lady  to  her  room. 

Biddy.  To  be  sure  I  will,  and  make  her  comfortable, 
toe ,     This  way,  my  lady.  \_Exit^  B 

Minnie,  Good  night.  Uncle  Chawles.  Don't  he 
anxious  about  me.  I  shall  sleep  soundly,  never  fear  — 
it's  so  romantic.  \_Exit,  b. 

Hunter,  Good  night,  Minnie.  Well,  Scud,  you're 
assigned  quarters  in  the  light. 

Larry,  I'll  take  care  of  him,  sir.  Come  along,  Scud. 
I'll  find  a  soft  plank  and  a  comfortable  shake  down 
for  ye's. 

Scud,  Yes,  I  guess  not.  Had  jes  enough  ob  yer 
shake  downs.  By  golly,  my  teeth  am  all  droppin' 
Dut  me. 

Hunter,  Go  with  him,  Scud.  He'll  take  good  care 
of  you. 

Larry,     That's  thrue  for  ye,  sir. 

Scud,  Well,  lead  on,  Hibernicum.  Dar's  alius  a 
olam  afore  de  storm,  but  de  day  ob  triberlation  am  a 
eomin'.  [^Exit  Larry  and  Scud,  c. 

David,  The  room  in  there  is  very  small,  so  I  advise 
you  to  give  if  to  the  boy,  and  keep  this  for  yourself. 

Hunter,  All  right,  friend.  Hope  I'm  not  turning  you 
»ut  of  your  own  quarters. 

David,     No  ;  my  duties  keep  me  in  the  light  all  night 

Hunter.     Rather  a  rough  life  you  lead,  friend. 


AMONG    THE    BREAKERS. 

David,     Rather.     Plenty  of  work,  and  poor  { ay . 

Hunter.  You  look  like  a  maa  who  has  seen  bcttei 
Jays. 

David,  Do  I?  Well,  perhaps  I  have,  and  perhaps 
1  haven't.  That's  my  business.  I  can  tell  you  this, 
cap'n,  Tve  tried  to  do  the  fair  thing  wherever  I've  been 
placed.  Love  my  friends,  and  hate  my  enemies.  That's 
about  the  wa^  of  the  world,  and  I'm  no  better  or  worse 
than  the  common  run  of  mankind.  You'll  sleep  here  — 
ivuU  you? 

Hunter.     Yes,  I'll  stretch  myself  on  that  bench. 

David.  Don't  lock  the  door,  for  I  have  to  pass  in  and 
out  during  the  night.     You  sleep  sound  ? 

Hunter.     Very. 

David.  rU  try  not  to  disturb  you.  Good  night,  and 
a  long^  refreshing  sleep.  \_Exit^  C. 

Hunter.  Good  night,  friend.  That  woman's  words 
ring  in  my  ears.  My  child  still  lives.  O,  would  they 
were  true.  Where  could  she  have  learned  so  much. 
Paul  Hunter  and  I  meet  again?  Impossible.  I  wish  I 
could  drive  such  thoughts  from  my  mind.  They  almost 
madden  me.  To  feel  the  clasp  of  the  dear  one's  arms 
about  my  neck,  to  hear  her  sweet  voice  speak  the  name 
of  father,  after  so  many  years,  wduld  be  a  miracle.  O, 
Paul  Hunter,  deep  and  terrible  was  your  revenge  upos 
an  innocent  head.     Heaven  forgive  you,  as  I  hope  I  do. 

Enter  Clarence,  c. 

Clarence.     Well,  father  —  back  again,  as  you  see. 
Hunter.     And  the  sea  nymph  —  safe  at  home  ? 
Clarence.     Yes.     O,  father,  she  is  the  swee^^est,  'jright^ 
•at .  dearest  girl  I  ever  met  1 


140  AMONG    THE    BBEAKEko. 

Hunter,     Hallo,  boy  !     Have  you  lost  your  heait? 

Glarevce,  Entirely  gone,  father.  Do  you  know,  Fd 
like  to  win  that  girl ;  to  make  her  my  wife. 

Hunter,     And  why  not? 

Clarence,  Her  station  in  life  is  very  low.  For  my 
§elf  I  would  not  care,  but  you  would  hardly  like  to  tak« 
RS  a  daughter  one  so  poor  and  — 

Hunter,  Tut,  tut,  boy !  I'd  rather  see  you  woo  this, 
brave  girl,  poor  as  she  is,  believing,  as  I  do,  she  has  a 
noble  heart,  a  pure  soul,  and  a  loving  disposition,  than 
have  you  bring  home  as  a  wife  the  belle  of  the  gay  cir- 
cles of  our  city  life. 

Clarence,     Do  you  mean  this  ? 

Hunter,  I  do,  my  boy.  *  I  was  once  so  poor  that  1 
dragged  my  half-starved  body  to  your  grandfather's 
door,  and  begged  of  him  a  crust  of  bread.  That  good 
old' man  took  me  Tn,  fed  me,  clothed  me,  treated  mo  €.6 
his  own  son,  and  when  he  died,  left  me  all  his  wealth, 

Clarence,  Treated  you  as  his  son  ?  left  you  his  w^^lch  't 
'Twas  yours  by  right. 

Hunter,     No,  Clarence,  for  I  am  not  your  lather. 

Clarence,     Not  —  my  —  father  ?     Mr.  Hunter  — 

Hunter,  Clarence,  to-morrow  you  are  of  age.  Then 
I  shall  make  disclosures  which  will  startle  you.  To- 
morrow I  shall  place  in  your  possession  the  title  deeds 
of  a  large  property  —  yours  by  right.  I  did  not  mean 
to  speak  of  this  now.  Ask  me  no  questions.  To-mor- 
row you  shall  find  that,  though  I  am  not  your  father,  1 
have  tried  to  be  your  friend. 

Clarence,  Friend  I  Heaven  bless  you  for  your  k»  ad- 
Iie6ft  to  me.     You  have  indeed  startled  me.     I  kiio^  f*ot 


AMONG   TH£    BREAKERS.  141 

wha,t  to  think  or  say.  But  I  will  obey  you,  and  be 
silent. 

Hunter.  That's  right.  Now  let's  to  bed.  There's  a 
little  room  which  you  will  occup3\  I  shall  sleep  >n  thio 
bench.     Good  night. 

Clarence.  Good  night,  father.  (Goes,  L.,  and  o'pe\  ^ 
door.)  Why,  here's  a  comfortable  room  and  a  bed.  1 
gee  here  your  fatherly  care.  You  would  give  me  a  '^ose^ 
nest,  and  take  the  hard  couch  for  your  bed. 

Hunter.  The  light-keeper  told  me  it  was  only  a  closet. 
Why  should  he  deceive  me  so  ? 

Clarence.  Well,  father,  you  take  the  bed,  and  I'll 
take  the  bench.  Nay,  I  insist.  I  could  not  sleep  here, 
knowing  you  were  not  as  comfortably  provided  for. 

Hunter.     But,  Clarence  — 

Clarence.  Nay,  let  me  have  my  \^y.  'Tis  perhaps 
the  last  request  I  shall  make  while  I  can  call  you  father. 
(Takes  candle  from  table.)  Here,  take  the  candle.  I 
shall  not  need  it.     Good  night,  father. 

Hunter  {takes  candle).  I  do  not  like  this,  but  you 
shall  have  your  way.  Good  night,  my  boy.  (They 
§hafce  hands.)     Heaven  bless  you.  ^  [_Exit,  L» 

Clarence,  Good  night,  kindest  and  best  of  friends. 
Not  my  father?  Who  is  he,  then?  Who  am  I?  This 
place  seems  the  very  abode  of  mystery.  An  unknown 
heroine,  a  witch,  who  startles  even  the  cool,  impenetrable 
Bruce  Hunter,  and  then  he  with  mysterious  hints  of 
secrets  in  my  life.  To-morrow  I  shall  know  all ;  be 
wealthy  owner  of  a  large  estate,  and  lose  my  father.  J 
cannot  fathom  it.  I'll  to  bed,  and  try  to  sleep.  (Gropes 
4m  way  to  hench^  L-^  on  which  are  lyirig  two  blank 5ts  which 


142  AMONG    THE    BREAKERS. 

David  brought  \n  ;  one  he  rolls  up  for  a  pillow^  then  liek 
dcfwn,  covering  himself  with  the  other,)  That  long  walk 
has  made  me  sleepy.  (^Yawns.)  What  a  pleasant  walk, 
and  what  a  delightful  girl  —  by  no  means  ignorant.  She's 
well  read  ;  Mother  Carey  has  reared  her  well  —  and  then 
8C  captivating.  Ah,  me,  if  she  were  only  mine !  I'll 
win  her.  Bess  —  Bess  —  what  a  pretty  name.  Bess 
Hunter  —  Mrs.  Bess  Hunter —  (^Yawns,)  This  sea 
air  is  a  decided  narcotic.  Bess,  —  brave,  lovely,  capti- 
vating, —  she's  the  treasure  of  the  seas.  Bess  —  Bess  — 
Bess  —     (^Sleeps.     Lightning,  thunder,  rain.) 

Enter  Scud,  c,  with  a  blanket. 

Scud.  Rainin'  like  de  debble  !  Dat  ar  Hibernicum's 
a  fo  —  fo  —  fool,  dat's  what  he  am.  Gib  me  a  soft  plank 
on  a  stone  floor  !  .No,  sar  ;  not  for  Scud.  Til  jes  find  a 
soft  plank  hyar  onto  de  bench.  {Goes  to  bench,)  Hallo ! 
By  golly,  dar's  a  lodger  dar  now.  Shoo !  it*s  Massa 
Clarence.  Whar's  a  soft  plank  ?  (Feels  about  the  floor.) 
Hyar's  one  —  jes  a  shade  softer  dan  a  slab.  I'll  retire 
here.  (Lies  down  in  front  of  the  bench.)  Dar's  nuffin 
like  a  good  crop  ob  wool  onto  de  cranium  when  de  pillers 
am  all  gone  to  de  wash.  Hallo !  what's  dat  ?  More 
lodgers?  (Lightning  and  thunder.  Door,  c,  opens 
Boftly.     Enter  David,  with  a  long  knife  in  his  hand,) 

David.  He  sleeps  !  My  enemy's  at  my  mercy.  'Tia 
a  cowardly  act  —  a  blow  in  the  dark.  But  let  me  re- 
member my  wrongs.  Bruce  Carter,  son  of  a  pauper, 
living  in  luxury  ;  I,  the  rightful  owner  of  all  he  calls  hia 
own,  living  here  like  a  dog.  He  must  die.  One  sure 
blow,  and  we  are  quits.     The  breakers  roar  for  prey. 


AMONG   THE   BREAKERS.  145 

Who  bo  fit  to  feed  them  as  he?  All  sleep  well.  This 
knife  shall  find  his  heart.  One  plunge,  and  his  body  ii 
in  the  waves. 

Scud.  Dar's  somebody  in  de  house  dat  don't  belong 
hyar,  dat's  sure  enough.  Wake  ap,  Scud.  Triberlat'n'a 
a  comin* ;  I  feel  'em  in  dem  remarkable  organs,  my 
heels.     (Sits  up,) 

David  (in  c.  of  stage).  Why  do  I  falter?  He  is  my 
enemy.  Shall  I  spare  him?  If  I  lose  this  chance,  with 
the  light  he  will  go,  never  to  return.  I  must  do  it. 
(Lightning  and  thunder,) 

Scud  (rising).  By  golly,  dar*s  a  man  in  de  middle  ob 
de  floor  wid  a  meat-axe  I  Who's  he  comin'  fur  to  go 
fur  ?     (Bises,) 

David  (creeping  towards  bench).  Curse  the  knife  1 
How  my  hand  trembles. 

Scud,     Triherlat'n  am  a  comin'  I     I  hyar  'im  breave. 

David,     Now  for  it. 

Scud  (seizing  him  by  throat).  Nuffin  hyar,  butcher  I 
Quffin  hyar ! 

David,     Confusion!     (They  struggle,) 

Scud,  Drop  dat  knife  I  Hyar,  cap'n  !  Help  I  mur- 
der !  Help  !  help  !  (  Wrests  the  knife  from  David,  and 
throws  him  to  B..) 

Enter  Hunter,  with  lighted  candle  in  one  hand,  pistol  in 
the  other,     Clarence  sits  up,  rubbing  his  eyes. 

David,     Curse  that  black  fiend  ! 

Hunter,     What's  the  matter.  Scud? 

Scud,  Murder  —  jes  —  almost  —  dat's  what'a  da 
matter.  Dat  ar  chap  was  gwine  for  Massa  Clarence  wid 
a  knife,  an'  I  went  for  dat  chap,  jes  —  dat's  all. 


144  AMONG    THE    BREAKERS. 

Hunter,  Murder  —  Clarence !  Short  work  foi  Ina^ 
derers.    {Levels  pistol  at  David.     Lightning,) 

Enter  Mother  Carey,  o. 

Mother  G.  (c).  Hold,  Bruce  Hunter  !  The  maQ  who'i 
life  is  in  your  hands  must  not  die.  Look  well  at  him 
'Tis  Paul  Hunter. 

Hunter  {dropping  pistol^  and  falling  back)  Paul 
Hunter ! 

David  {dashes  past  Scud  towards  Mother  Caret). 
Woman  !  fiend  !  you  lie  ! 

Scud  {puts  his  arms  through  David's,  and  bends  him 
over  his  knees).  Hold  on,  old  man  !  Gib  de  old  lady  a 
chance,  for  triberlat'n*s  ar  a  comin' ! 

Mother  G.  Ha,  ha !  Remember  Mother  Carey's 
prophecy.  The  wronger  and  the  wronged  shall  meet. 
Happiness  to  one  ;  destruction  to  the  other.  Justice  for 
both  at  last,  —  at  last.     {Lightning  and  thunder.) 

QUICK   CURTAIN. 


A.CT  n.  —  Scene.  Same  as  in  Ad  I.  Table^  c. 
Chairs  R.  and  l.  of  table.  Bench,  r-.  Arm-chair^  r. 
L.,  near  entrance,  barrel  with  cover^  large  enough  yQ 
comfortably  contain  Scud. 

Larry  {sings,  outside,  c). 

"  When  first  I  saw  swate  Peggy, 
*Twas  on  a  market  day, 
On  a  low-backed  car  she  sat  and  rode. 
Upon  a  truss  of  hay/*  &c. 


AMONG    THE    BREAKERS.  145 

Oeh,  it's  ab  lUigant  mornin',  jist,  an'  it's  clyitf  I  am  foi 
a  sight  uv  the  lovely  girl  that's  made  me  pass  a  8lap«- 
less  night  dramin*  uv  her.  Where's  the  masther  —  I 
donno  ?  Not  once  the  night  has  he  put  his  head  in  the 
light.  Will,  it's  his  onaisy  sphirit  kapes  him  a  walkin' 
an  a  walkin'.  Ah,  there's  Biddy  comin',  as  rosy  as  the 
clouds  iv  the  mornin*.  {Enter  Biddy,  with  her  hands 
full  of  dishes,)  The  top  uv  the  mornin'  to  ye's,  Biddy, 
ye  jewel. 

Biddy.  Ah,  ha,  Misther  Larry,  yer  up  betimes  wil 
yer  compliments  an'  flatterin'  spaches. 

Larry,  To  be  sure  I  am.  For  it's  little  slape  I  have 
wid  yer  purty  face  forninst  me  an'  the  shlumbers  of  mid- 
night. Och,  Biddy,  darlint,  won't  ye's  come  for  to  go 
for  to  be  my  widdy  ? 

Biddy,  Indade,  an'  I'll  be  nobody's  widdy.  If  I'd  not 
my  hands  full  I'd  box  yer  ears,  so  I  would. 

Larry,  Och,  be  aisy  !  That's  a  dilicate  way  of  axing 
ye's  to  be  my  wife.  Hands  full  I  By  that  same  token, 
Biddy,  darlint,  I'm  just  going  to  stale  a  kiss  from  your 
purty  lips. 

Biddy.  Indade,  but  yer  not.  Kape  off,  or  I'll  scratch 
ye's  face,  so  I  will. 

Larry,  Wid  yer  hands  full?  Troth,  but  I'll  jist  thry 
that  same.     (^Puts  his  arm  round  her  waist.) 

Biddy  (struggling) .     Away  wid  ye's  ! 

Larry.  Whin  I've  tasted  the  cherries  uv  yer  lipsr 
(They  struggle.  She  drops  the  dishes.  He  kisses  her.  Cover 
of  barrel  is  raised^  and  Scud's  head  appears.) 

Scud  (aside).     Dar's  a  smash.     Stolen  sweets,  iliiis 
trated  wid —  wid  —  wid  plates.     (Disappears  in  barrel.) 
10 


1 46  AMONG    THE    BREAKERS. 

Biddy.  Now  say  what  ye's  done.  Ye's  bicker  th« 
pace. 

Larry.  Niver  mvnd  the  paces.  I'll  make  it  all  right 
wid  the  masther. 

Biddy  (picking  up  pieces  in  her  apron).  The  mas* 
ther  is  it?  Och,  Misther  Larry,  there's  been  avil  work 
iiere  the  night. 

Lirry  (picking  up  pieces).  Avil  work?  What  d'yi 
mace,  Biddy? 

Biddy.  Whist !  I  heard  a  hullabaloo,  an'  down  her« 
I  cript,  an'  paked  in  at  the  door.  An*  there  was  the 
masther  hild  by  the  black  cook,  an'  the  cap'n  wid  a 
piathol  in  his  fist,  an'  owld  Mother  Carey  a  houldin'  uv 
her  broomstick,  an'  all  talkin'  an*  talkin'  togither  some- 
ihin'  about  a  murther ;  an'  thin  the  owld  lady  scooted 
out  uv  the  door,  an'  —  an'  they  locked  masther  up  in 
his  room,  an' — an*  thin  I  jist  crept  off  to  bid.  Och, 
but  it's  an  avil  place,  jist ! 

Larry.  A  murther,  an'  the  masther  locked  up? 
Bedad,  I  don't  onderstand  it  at  all,  at  all. 

Biddy.  No  more  do  I ;  but  I'll  give  warning  the 
day,  an'  go  back  to  my  cousin,  Bridget  Blancy,  so  I 
will. 

Larry.  An'  lave  yer  own  thrue  Larry,  that's  dyin' 
for  the  love  uv  ye's  ?  Biddy,  come  wid  me  to  the  praste 
beyant,  an'  be  my  own  thrue  wife. 

Biddy.     Och,  d'ye  mane  it,  Misther  Larry  ? 

Larry.  Mane  it?  Biddy,  my  darlint  (^puts  his  arm 
^hout  her  waist),  I'm  a  lonely  Irishman,  widout  the  con- 
vaniences  uv  relations,  a  pinin'  for  the  swates  ut  domes- 
tic life.  Take  me  to  ye's  heart,  for  I'm  cowld  wid  thi 
hunger  uv  love  that  burns  in  my  bosom. 


AMONG   THE    BREAKERS.  141 

Biddy,  Troll,  Mistber  Larry,  yer  a  broth  uv  a  boy, 
Eo  ye  arc ;  an',  wid  the  praste's  blessia*,  Til  be  your  own 
thrue  wife,  Biddy  Bane. 

Larry  (embracing  her).  Och,  ye  darlint,  it's  crazy  1 
am  wid  the  joy  I  fale.  By  the  blissid  St.  Patrick,  we'U 
be  the  happiest  couple  in  the  wide  world. 

Biddy.  That  we  will.  Now  let  me  go.  The  brick- 
fast's  not  riddy,  an'  the  table's  not  laid.     ((7oes,  ±t.) 

Larry.  I  say,  Biddy  ;  like  a  thafe  I  stole  a  kiss  (ap- 
yroaching  her)  ;  like  an  honorable  gintleman  I  put  it 
back.     (Kisses  her.     Scud  raises  cover.) 

Biddy.     Be  aisy,  Misther  Larry.  {^Exity  B. 

Scud, 

•*  De  monkey  marred  de  baboon's  sister, 
Smacked  his  lips,  and  den  he  kissed  her." 

Shoo !     (Disappears.) 

Larry.  She's  a  darlin',  so  she  is.  The  masther'a 
locked  up  in  his  room.  Begorra,  I'll  jist  do  meself  the 
favor  to  lit  him  out,  an'  set  him  fray.  He's  my  own 
masiher,  an'  if  he's  in  throuble,  Larry  Divine's  not  the 
b'y  to  show  him  his  back,  jist.     (Going ,  L.) 

Scud  (throwing  off  caver ^  and  standing  up  in  the  harrel)  • 
Stop  dar,  Hibernicum,  stop  dar !    Dis  am  a  private  way 
it  am  dangerous  trabellin'. 

Larry.  Out  uv  that,  ye  hathen  imp  of  blackness. 
Hould  yer  prate,  or  I'll  break  — 

Ccud  (  pointing  pistol) .  Wliat's  dat  ?  Who  —  who  — • 
who  — '  who's  a  what  ?  Quit,  yer  fool !  quit,  yer  fool  I 
Dis  yer  am  a  deranged  rebolber ;  keeps  goin'  round  an' 
goin'  off,  shootin'  all  de  time.     You  can't  go  in  dar. 


148  AMONO   THE    BREAKERS. 

Larry  (retreating),  Pat  up  that  pistol.  It  might 
go  off. 

Scud,  Da's  a  fact,  da's  a  fact.  I  tell  yer,  Hiberjicum, 
triberlation  am  comin',  sart'n  sure.  De  tables  am  turued 
Down  on  yer  marrow  bones  dar,  down  on  yer  marrow 
bones  I 

Larry  (Icneeling).  Scud,  Masther  Scud,  ye  jewel,  La 
aisy  wid  the  pisthol. 

Scud.  Now  yer  jest  mind  what  I  say.  Ain't  got  dia 
chile  by  de  scruff  ob  de  neck  dis  time.  Now,  mister,  say 
what  I  tole  ye.  I'm  a  red-headed,  meddlin',  pugniferous 
Hibernicum.  Say  it  —  by  golly,  can't  hold  dis  yer 
pistol. 

Jjarry,  Yes,  yes.  I'm  a  rid-headed  —  by  my  sowl 
I'll  break  — 

Scud.     De  pistol  am  goin'. 

Larry.  I'm  a  rid-headed,  middlin',  pugnacious 
Mickey  I 

Scud.     Da's  a  fact.     Brack  libbered,  ugly  —  say  it. 

Larry,    Niver,  ye  thafe. 

Scud.     It's  goin',  it's  goin  —  can't  hole  him. 

Larry.     I'm  a  black-livered  — 

Scud.     Da's  a  fact,  da's  a  fact  —  scoundrel  —  eay  it. 

Larry,     Scoundrel.     {Aside.)    That  ye  are. 

Scud.  An*  Massa  Scud  am  a  gentleman.  Can't  hole 
de  pistol. 

Larry.  An*  Masther  Scud  am  a  gintleman  —  (Aside,) 
lliafe. 

Scud.  Now  den,  Hibernicum,  shake  yer  hoof,  shake 
yer  hoof,  vamose.     One  —  two  —  tree  — 

Larry  (rising).     Off  it  is,  belave  it,  honoy.     (Oci6  tt 


AMONG   THE   BREAKERS.  149 

ioor.^  C.)     ril   be   avin  \<^id  ye,  ye  black  thafe  of  the 
worrld. 

Scud,  De  pistol  am  a  goia' ;  can't  hole  liim,  by  golly, 
can't  hole  him.  {Exit  Larry,  c.)  Golly,  see  um  run. 
De  day  ob  triberlation  am  come.  Massa  cap'n  tole  me 
to  get  Tinder  cober  an'  watch  dat  ar  door.  Dis  yer  am  de 
only  cober  I  kin  find.  Almos'  stuffocate  me.  My  knees  am 
all  out  ob  jint  in  de  barrel,  but  dar  ain't  nobody  goin'  into 
dat  ar  door  while  I've  got  dis  yer  pistol.  Hallo  !  some- 
body's comin'.  Whar's  de  cober?  It  am  clean  gone. 
{JDrovs  into  barrel,) 

Enter  Paragraph,  c,  with  note-booh. 

Paragraph,  What's  this  —  a  murder  ?  The  Irishman 
said  that  somebody  had  murdered  somebody.  His  mas- 
ter locked  up,  and  to  use  his  expressive  words,  '*  Owld 
Nick  broke  loose."  Peter,  you're  in  luck.  Here's  an 
item.  ( Writes,)  *'  Horrible  outrage.  Dastardly  as- 
sassination. The  banks  of  Fairpoint  bathed  in  gore. 
High  crime  on  the  Lowlands.  Testimony  of  an  eye- 
witness. Our  special  correspondent  on  the  spot." 
There's  a  heading  for  an  extra.  But  where's  the  mur- 
derer, and  where's  the  murdered?  The  light-keeper 
locked  up !  He  must  be  the  assassin.  I'll  interview 
him.  What !  Miss  Daze,  my  adored  Minnie,  for  whom 
I  fished  and  lost?  I'll  try  her  with  a  fresh  bait.  {TaJcei 
out  his  handkerchief,) 

Enter  Minnie,  r. 

Mmnie,  Mr.  Paragraph!  Sir,  I  thought  we  weif 
to  have  no  more  of  your  society. 


150  AMONG   THE    BREAKERS. 

Paragraph  (icitJi  affected  emotion) .  Minnie,  —  ah, 
Miss  Daze,  —  I  am  about  to  leave  this  place,  hallowed 
by  tender  recollections,  never  to  return.  (  Wipes  his  eyes. ) 
After  a  sleepless  night,  I  have  come  to  my  senses.  Yes, 
Peter,  who  so  madly  loved  you,  adored,  celestial,  seraph- 
ic, ecstatic,  unaffected  divinity  of  loveliness,  has  come 
to  a  realizing  sense  of  his  inferiority.  The  said  Peler 
now  sees  how  high  you  are  above  him.  Pardon  this 
weakness.  {Weeps^  and  blows  his  nose,)  In  an  hour 
you  will  find  said  Peter,  your  once  loved  Peter,  far  away. 
You'll  never  hear  of  him  again,  save  by  report  of  his 
valor  in  the  field. 

Minnie.  In  the  field  ?  What  mean  3'ou  Peter  —  Mr. 
Paragraph  ? 

Paragraph.  To-morrow  I  enlist  in  the  noble  army 
of  martyrs  who  serve  our  dearly  beloved  Uncle  Samuel ; 
to-morrow  I  don  the  habiliments  of  a  soldier  —  the 
tightly-fitting  pantaloons,  the  bagg}'  coat  of  blue,  and 
march  away  to  battle  against  "  Lo." 

Minnie.     Against  who? 

Paragraph.  ''Lo,  the  poor  Indian,"  on  the  broad 
prairies  of  the  West.  Ah,  the  thought  is  a  soothing 
balm  to  my  lacerated  bosom.  It  is  an  inspiration.  I 
feel  the  glow  of  martial  fire  ;  the  smoke  of  battle  fills 
my  nostiils.  I  see  the  red  man  of  the  forest ;  my  hand 
grasps  his  top-knot ;  my  gleaming  knife  encircles  his 
head.     Ah,  ha !  his  scalp  is  at  my  belt. 

Minnie.  How  romantic.  O  Peter !  glorious  Peter  J 
you  were  born  to  be  a  soldier. 

Paragraph,  There's  but  one  drawback  to  this  glow- 
ing picture.     To  leave  you,  whom  I  so  madly  love,  to 


AMONG   THE   BREAKERS.  151 

leaya  you,  fair  type  of  civilization,  to  find  oompaoion* 
ship  with  the  red  squaws  of  the  West.  The  thouo:hl 
is  madness. 

Minnie.  And  do  you  think  I  will  submit  to  tht 
parting?  No,  Peter.  When  you  go  forth  as  a  sol- 
dier I  will  be  by  your  side.  I  will  carry  your  mus- 
ket ;  I  will  share  with  you  the  burden  of  your  knap- 
sack, and,  on  the  far  distant  prairies,  cook  for  you  th* 
sportive  buffalo,  while  you  scalp  the  red  man. 

Paragraph.  O,  this  is  too  much.  Devotion,  thy 
name  is  Woman.  O  Minnie  Daze,  I'm  all  ablaze  with 
love  and  valor.  Thus  do  I  swear  fidelity  to  you,  my 
soldier  bride.     {Kisses  her.) 

Scud  (popping  up  his  head).  Dat's  de  sojer's  fust 
shot,  all  de  world  ober.     (Disappears,) 

Minnie.  O,  Peter,  how  could  you?  Pardon  my 
blushes ;  'twas  so  abrupt.  Give  me  time  to  recover. 
Anon  we'll  meet,  my  gallant  soldier.  O,  this  is  indeed 
romantic.  [_Exit^  r. 

Paragraph.  Go  for  a  soldier !  Not  much,  my  bloom- 
ing Minnie.  I've  made  peace  with  you  without  a  bat- 
tle, and  I'll  contrive  to  keep  it  without  the  help  of  th« 
red  man.  Now,  then,  to  interview  the  murderer.  That'* 
his  room.     (Going^  L.     Scud  rises  in  the  barrel.) 

Scud.     Halt  dar,  Massa  Paragruff. 

Paragraph.  Scud  I  What  are  you  doing  iu  that 
barrel  ? 

Scud.     Dis  yer  am  de  sentry-box,  Massa  Paragruff. 

Paragraph.     O,  ho  !  I  see.     You  are  on  guard. 

Scud.  Yaas,  Massa  Paragruff.  I'm  de  bra..l  guard 
tb  de  place. 


152  AMONG   THE   BREAKEBS. 

Paragraph,  Exactly.  There  has  been  a  murder  com- 
nriitted.     Am  I  right  ? 

Scud,     Yaas,  indeed.     Almos'  killed  a  man. 

Paragraph,  Good.  Hold  on  a  minute  till  I  get  my 
'note-book.  {Takes  out  note-hook,)  I'll  interview  yot 
first. 

Scud,  Interwhich?  Yaas,  I  gue«s  not.  Yer  canH 
come  inter  dis  yer  barrel. 

Paragraph,  Now  then,  Scud,  tell  me  all  about  it. 
You  witnessed  the  deed? 

Scud,  Yaas,  indeed,  I  was  dar,  chile,  in  de  thickest 
ob  de  fry. 

Paragraph,  Yes.  {Writes,)  Scud,  intelligent  col 
ored  man  —  age,  forty  —  occupation,  servant  —  witnessed 
the  deed. 

Scud.  See  hyar,  Massa  Paragruff,  what  yer  doin'  dat 
for?  What  yer  writin'  my  photography  for?  I  didn't 
kill  nuffin. 

Paragraph.  It's  all  right.  Now,  then,  who  wa« 
murdered  ? 

Scud,     Hey  ?     Why,  de  wictim,  ob  course. 

Paragraph,     But  who  was  the  victim? 

Scud,     Why,  de  chap  what  was  de  wictim. 

Paragraph.      O,  stuff!     What  was  his  name? 

Scud,     De  back  name,  or  de  front  name  ? 

Paragraph,     Both,  you  mule. 

Scud,  Young  man,  look  hyar.  If  you  go  for  to 
hurlin'  obstreperous  epigrams  at  dis  yer  chile,  I'm  done, 
da^'s  all.  « 

Paragraph,  I  beg  your  pardon.  Scud.  Please  givt 
ine  the  name  of  the  victim. 


AMONG    TUB   BREAKERS.  155 

Scud,     Why,  ycr  know  him.     Twas  Massa  Clarence. 

Paragraph,  Clarence  murdered,  and  I  asleep.  (  Writes,} 
Victim,  Clarence  Hunter  —  age,  twenty-one  —  pride  of 
his  father  —  promising  youth  —  cut  off —  flower  of  mao* 
hood.    Go  on.     Who  was  the  murderer? 

Scud,     De  fellow  wid  de  knife. 

Paragraph,     Deed  committed  with  a  knife.     Well. 

Scud,  Well,  you  see,  Massa  Clarence  was  a  sleepin* 
onto  de  bench  down  dar,  an*  I  was  a  sleepin'  onto  de 
floor  down  dar,  an'  de  fellow  come  into  de  door  dar  wid 
a  knife  ;  an'  he  stan'  up  in  de  floor  jes  dar,  an'  de  lighten 
come,  an'  I  seed  him.  Den  he  went  for  Massa  Clarence, 
%n'  dis  yer  chile  went  for  him,  an'  somefin  dropped,  dat's 
all.     Den  we  locked  him  into  dat  yer  room. 

Paragraph,  In  that  room  ?  Enough.  From  the  lips 
of  the  murderer  i  will  hear  the  rest.  O  Peter,  you're 
in  luck.  Here's  matter  for  two  columns  of  sensation. 
{Going ^  L.) 

Scud,  Hole  on,  Massa  Paragruff.  Whar  are  you 
goin'  ? 

Paragraph,     Into  that  room. 

Scud,  Can't  do  it,  no  sar.  I  am  de  cap'n  ob  dis  yei 
—  dis  yer  —  barrel,  an'  dar  ain't  no  passin'  dis  yer  bul- 
wark, no  sar. 

Paragraph,  What,  would  you  hamper  the  freedom  of 
the  press? 

Scud,  Don't  know  nuffin  bout  de  press.  Free  list 
ftm  suspended.  No  dead  heads  in  dar.  No,  sar; 
can't  go. 

Paragraph,  But  I  shall.  My  professional  reputation 
ig  at  stake.     Stand  back. 


154  AMONG    ifac    BiltAxlfiKS. 

Scud  {presenting  pistol),  Staud  back  yerself,  oi 
yer'll  make  a  bifsteak. 

Paragraph  (retreating).     Put  up  that  pistul. 

Scud.  *Tain't  one  ob  dat  kind.  It  keeps  goin'  round, 
an*  goin*  off,  an  — 

Paragraph,  Put  it  down.  I'll  tell  your  master,  yon 
•camp,  and  have  you  horsewhipped.  Point  a  pistol  at 
A  gentleman,  and  a  member  of  the  press  I  You  shall 
catch  it.     {Hurries  off,  c.) 

Scud,  Yaas,  sar,  do,  sar,  fetch  de  master,  an'  git  me 
out  ob  dis  yer  barrel.  Freedom  ob  de  press  1  Ya,  ya  I 
dat  am  a  mighty  organ,  but  dis  yer  pistol  am  a  sight 
more  powerfuller.  Hallo !  dar's  somebody  else.  Can't 
go  into  dat  ar  room,  no,  sar.     {Disappears  in  barrel,) 

Enter  Bess,  c. 
Bess  (singing). 

**  Ever  be  happy,  gay  as  a  lark, 
Pride  of  the  pirate's  heart." 

Rather  early  to  make  a  call.  But  it's  such  a  splendid 
morning,  bright,  clear,  with  a  capital  breeze,  and  just  the 
morning  for  a  sail ;  so,  to  be  hospitable  and  polite^  IVe 
launched  my  boat,  and  sculled  across  the  bay  to  invite 
my  beau  of  last  night  to  take  a  seat.  O,  wasn't  he 
splendid  —  so  tall,  and  such  a  noble  style  about  him  I 
Ah,  me,  Bess  Starbright,  it's  well  for  you  that  he  stays 
but  a  day. 

Enter  Clarence. 

Clarence,     Well,  well,  Miss  Bes3,  here  you  are. 
Bess.     Yes,  Mr.  Clarence,  here   I  am,  to   wish   yao 
%  good  morning. 


AMONG   THE    BREAKERS.  15d 

Clarence.  TvQ  been  to  your  house  to  make  a  morn- 
mg  call. 

Bess.  That's  very  kind  of  you.  And  I  took  m} 
boat  and  rowed  across  the  bay,  and  so  missed  mee^ 
ing  you  on  the  sands.  Come,  it's  a  beautiful  morning; 
give  me  your  company  for  a  sail. 

Clarence.  A  sail?  That's  delightful.  Shall  I  call 
the  rest  of  our  party? 

Bess.  Just  as  you  please  —  but  —  but  —  but  my  boat 
will  only  carry  two. 

Clarence.  Ah,  that's  a  delightful  boat!  I  thank 
you  for  your  kind  invitation,  and  will  give  you  my 
company  with  pleasure.  This  is  my  birthday,  Miss 
Bess. 

Bess.    Your  birthday?     Accept  my  congratulations. 

Clarence.  Thank  you ;  but  I  shall  ask  you  for 
Bomething  more.  I  am  twenty-one  to-day.  Miss  Star- 
bright,  and  with  my  manhood  comes  the  possession  of  a 
large  property,  and  an  income  sufficient  to  satisfy  the 
most  lavish  disposition. 

Bess  (aside).  Rich!  Ah,  me!  would  he  were  as 
poor  as  I.     (Aloud.)     I'm  very  glad,  sir. 

Clarence.  Yes,  I  have  wealth.  X-al«e-have~a>~pair 
of -Strong-arms,  a  healthy- frame,  a  passably  clear  head, 
and,  I  hope,  a  warm  heart.  I'm  rather  an  oddity,  for 
I  believe  nothing  in  this  world  is  of  any  good  unlesi 
it  is  made  useful ;  and  unless  I  can  make  the  wealth 
servo,  me  as  well  as  I  have  made  the  others,  I  shall 
think  my  birthday  gift  of  fortune  is  a  useless  incum- 
brance. 

Bess,  Why,  I  declare,  sir.  You're  quite  a  preach 
iTi  too. 


Id6  AMONG  THE   BBEAKEBS. 

Clarence.  Am  I  ?  Do  you  know  what  text  I  should 
like  to  preach  a  sermon  from? 

Bess.     I'm  sure  I  don't. 

Clarence,  With  you  as  the  congregation,  I  as  the 
preacher,  "  Love  one  another." 

Bess.     Sir — Mr.  Clarence  I 

Clarence.  Miss  Starbright  —  Bess — listen  to  me. 
Last  night,  after  you  left  me,  I  stood  at  your  window. 
I  heard  the  sound  of  a  piano  and  your  voice,  sweeter 
than  any  which  ever  fell  upon  my  ears.  You  have 
beauty,  taste,  talent.  You  are  out  of  place  here.  I 
have  met  beautiful,  cultivated  women  in  society,  but 
never  before  has  my  heart  been  moved  by  that  mighty 
power  which  makes  or  mars  all  destinies.  Bess, 
let  my  hand  lead  you  to  a  station  more  fitting  your 
aoble,  brave  spirit.     Be  my  wife,  Bess,  for  I  love  you. 

Bess.     You  love  me?  —  you  rich,  I  a  poor  girl? 

Clarence.  Nay,  let's  drop  comparisons,  or  change 
aames,  for  your  brave  acts  would  count  in  honorable 
i^ealth  beyond  my  rich  possessions. 

Bess.  O,  Mr.  Clarence!  I  know  not  what  to  say. 
[  cannot  but  be  pleased  with  your  preference.  I,  too, 
^ave  had  my  sweet  dreams  since  you  came  here,  but 
tis  so  strange.  'Tis  better  we  should  let  it  pass  as  a 
iream.  To-day  you  will  leave  me ;  to-morrow  yoa 
^ill  look  upon  it  as  hiU  a  dream,  and  forget  me. 

Clarence.  'Tis  a  dream  from  which  I  hope  never 
(o  awake  then.  No,  Bess,  I  am  determined  ycu  shall 
te  my  wife. 

Miter  HuNTEB,  c. 

Hunter.  And  he's  a  most  determined  young  scampii 
MIbs  Bess. 


AMOI^Q    THE    BREAKEBS  15  V 

Bess,     What,  Mr.  Hunter,  will  you  allow  this? 
Hunter,     I  cannot  help  myself.      He  is  of  age ;  and 
icsides,  I  rather  like  his  spirit. 

Bess,     But  what  will  Mother  Carey  say? 

Enter  Mother  Caret,  c. 

Mother  G,  Be  not  too  hasty.  Time  tries  all.  Wait 
There  are  mysteries  to  be  cleared,  accounts  to  be  set- 
tled, wrongs  to  be  righted.  Love  can  wait,  aa  well  as 
hate. 

Clarence,  Nay,  Mother  Carey,  there's  no  time  like 
the  present.  I  love  your  daughter ;  would  make  her  my 
wife.     I  believe  I  can  gain  her  consent.     Have  I  yours? 

Mother  (7.  Patience,  boy,  patience.  An  hour  from 
now  the  tide  will  change.  Who  can  tell  what  its 
flood  may  strew  upon  the  beach,  —  perhaps  treasures 
of  hope  and  joy ;  perhaps  fragments  of  wrecked  hopes, 
and  ghastly  corses  of  despair.  Wait,  boy,  wait.  Come 
to  me  then,  and  what  I  have  the  right  to  bestow  shall  be 
yours. 

Clarence.  Thanks!  I  will  await  your  pleasure. 
Come,  Bess,  I'm  anxious  for  that  sail. 

Bess,  Gracious  I  I  forgot  all  about  it.  Come,  you 
shall  see  how  I  manage  a  boat. 

Clarence,  And  then  you  shall  see  how  I  manage  a 
wife. 

Bess,     When  you've  caught  her.     Come  along,  sir. 

[_Exitt  0. 

Hunter.     Hallo,  Scud  I     {^cui>  rises  from  barrel.) 

Scud,     Ay,  ay,  Massa  Cap'n. 

Hunter,     What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  there? 


158  AMONG  THE   BBEAKEBS. 

Scud.  I's  on  guard,  Massa  Cap'n.  Didn't  ye  tolt 
me  to  watch  de  door  dar?  Spec  I  did  —  wid  a  pistle, 
too. 

Hunter.     Well,  get  out  of  that  barrel  —  quick  I 

Scud  (tips  the  barrel  down,  and  crawls  out)*  Belibe 
guard  I  Yaas,  sar,  spec  I  will.  I,  golly,  got  de  rheu* 
matiz  in  my  heel.  (Hohhles  to  door,  c.)  Here,  cap'n, 
hyar*s  yer  pistle.  (Hunteb  takes  it.)  I  jes  paid  rff 
dat  ar  Hibernicum !  {At  door^  c,  a  broom  comes  dovm 
upon  his  head,) 

Larry.     Ye  did,  ye  thafe  uv  the  worrld ! 

Scud.  By  golly,  stop,  yer  fool  1  Help  !  help  !  {Rum 
across  stage,  followed  by  Larry  beating  him,) 

Larry.     I'll  tache  ye,  ye  black  son  of  a  gun.  \JExit,  B. 

Hunter.  And  now  we  are  alone,  I  thank  yoa  for 
the  service  you  have  performed  in  disclosing  a  villain. 
May  I  not  ask  you  to  clear  this  mystery  ? 

Mother  G.  Bruce  Hunter,  or  Carter,  —  it  matters 
not,  —  you  are  a  noble  man.  In  all  honorable  ways, 
you  have  attained  the  love  of  friends,  great  wealth,  a 
high  name  in  the  council  halls,  the  good  opinion  of  your 
fellows.     One  more  effort,  and  happiness  is  yours. 

Hunter.     Still  mysterious.     What  must  I  now  do? 

Mother    C.     Bring  a  sinner  to  repentance. 

Hunter.     I  am  still  in  the  dark. 

Mother  G.  Listen.  Fifteen  years  ago,  under  my 
humble  roof  rested  a  woman  weak  and  faint  after  a  long 
journey.  Her  story  was  a  bitter  one.  Young,  the 
bloom  of  girlhood  scarcely  swept  from  her  cheek,  she 
was  a  wife  and  mother.  Her  husband  was  a  reckless, 
dissipated  man,  who^e  father  had  disinherited    him  foff 


AMONG  TUB   BREAKERS.  151 

marry  iog  a  poor  girl,  willing  his  property  to  ftn 
adopted  son. 

Hunter,     Paul  Hunter! 

Mother  C.  And  yourself.  My  characters  are  rcaL 
Fired  with  revenge^  the  disappointed  man  determined 
to  rob  his  foster  brother  of  his  dearest  treasure.  The 
wife,  with  tears  and  supplication,  attempted  to  per- 
iuade  him  from  his  purpose.  He  struck  her  to  the 
earth,  sought  the  home  of  his  enemy,  and  accomplished 
his  purpose. 

Hunter.     Sx)  far  all's  true.     The  rest  is  mystery. 

Mother  C.  He  fled ;  but  not  unwatched,  for  the  wife 
stealthily  followed. 

Hunter.  Wretched  woman !  She  should  have  sought 
the  unhappy  father,  disclosed  the  hiding-place  of  the 
villain  — 

Mother  G.  She  was  his  wife.  The  two  were  one. 
His  secrets  were  her  secrets,  to  be  kept  sacredly. 
With  the  knowledge  of  his  guilt  she  must  cover  her 
head,  though  the  heavy  burden  crush  her  to  the  dust. 
She  found  his  hiding-place ;  watched  and  waited  for 
the  hand  of  fate  to  lead  the  father  to  his  child.  For 
she  had  made  a  vow  that  while  her  husband  lived  her 
lips  should  be  silent,  unless  that  husband,  on  his  bended 
knees,  with  remorse  leading  his  guilty  soul  to  repentance, 
should  himself  proclaim  the  truth,  and  sue  for  pardon. 

Hunter.     Where  is  that  woman? 

Mother  G.  Beyond  your  reach.  Bruce  Hunter,  he 
who  so  wronged  you  is  at  your  mercy.  In  your  handa 
IS  the  weapon  that  can  take  his  life ;  in  your  heart  ig 
the  power  *a  lead  him  to  repentance.     Use  either,  anci 


160  AHONa  THE    UBEAKESS. 

the  mystery  is  cleared.  You  have  your  choice.  Bin 
reflect.  Revenge,  speedy,  quick,  terrible,  blots  out  a 
wretched  life,  to  stain  you  with  its  blood;  repeiitancc 
washes  a  soul,  brings  it  nearer  to  a  merciful  Father, 
and  weaves  into  your  spirit  the  rich  reward  of  a  noble 
act.  (^At  door,  c.)  Bruce  Hunter,  I  have  done.  When 
next  we  meet,  the  mystery  is  cleared.  [^Exit,  c. 

Hunter  (^sinking  into  chair  r.  of  table),  "  You  have 
your  choice.  The  power  is  in  your  heart  to  bring  hira 
to  repentance."  'Tis  false.  There's  nought  within  this 
bosom  but  a  fierce  desire  for  revenge.  When  1  re- 
member these  long  years  of  separation  from  one  who 
might  have  made  my  life  so  happy ;  when  I  remember 
the  cruel  wrong  wrought  by  this  inhuman  monster,  can 
I  stop  to  parley  with  hira,  to  turn  him  to  repentance  ? 
No ;  this  weapon  shall  right  me  quick,  and  thus  restore 
my  daughter.  {Eises,)  Daughter !  Ah,  but  when  I 
have  her  in  my  arms,  will  she  not  shrink  from  the  em- 
braces of  a  father  whose  hands  are  stained  with  blood? 
That  woman  is  well  skilled  in  her  vocation.  She  sets 
fierce  passions  warring  in  my  breast,  and  stakes  her  for- 
tunes on  the  power  that  in  life's  battle  oft  for  me  has 
won  the  field.  She's  right.  I  cannot  sully  the  fair  record 
of  the  past  with  crime.  Away  the  thought.  Heaven 
help  me  to  subdue  this  man.  (^Goes  r.,  z:nloiJcs  door,  and 
throws/it  open.)  Paul  Hunter  I  You  are  wanted.  (Be- 
turns  to  seat  r.  of  table,) 

David  (outside,  l.).  Wanted,  ha,  ha!  by  the  officers 
of  justice.  Well,  I  am  ready.  (Enters,  L.)  I  am 
ready.  How  ?  —  alone  ?  Come,  let's  have  no  delay  io 
fhi%  business.     I  am  anxious  to  enjoy  the  quiet  of  grinr 


AMONG   THE   BREAK  BBS.  16l 

walls,  the  solitude  of  the  felon's  cell.  Bring  in  youi 
men.  You'll  find  no  resistance.  I'll  walk  as  calmly  to 
my  fate  as  did  the  martyrs  to  the  stake. 

Hunter,  There  are  no  ofiicers  here.  You  are  as 
free  as  I. 

David.  Free  ?  Have  you  forgotten,  that  last  night  I 
attempted  your  life ;  that  I  would  have  killed  you  as  I 
would  a  snak^  that  bit  me? 

Hunter.  O,  no,  I  haven't  forgotten  it,  Paul.  But 
for  the  fidelity  of  a  faithful  friend  some  one  would  have 
been  a  corse  this  bright  morning. 

David,     Faithful  friend !     Curse  him. 

Huntir,  And  he  saved  a  life  dearer  than  mine. 
Your  little  plot  failed,  Paul.  'Twas  the  boy  whose 
life  was  endangered,  not  mine. 

David,  Bruce  Carter,  you  have  escaped  me ;  but  if 
you  value  your  life,  leave  this  place  forever.  There's  a 
fiend  in  my  bosom  urging  me  to  murder :  there's  a 
frenzied  power  creeping  through  my  frame  I  cannot 
control.     Begone  —  ere  'tis  too  late. 

Hunter,  'Tis  too  late  noy/,  Paul  Hunter  ;  too  late  for 
you  and  I  to  separate,  until  that  dark  veil  which  covers 
the  past  is  lifted.  For  fifteen  years  you  have  embittered 
my  life ;  and  now,  when  we  meet,  you  bid  me  begone. 
Fool !  you  forget  I  am  the  avenger  now.  'Tis  my  wrongs 
that  cry  aloud.     Of  what  do  you  complain  ? 

David,  Complain?  Nothing.  Why  should  I?  There 
was  a  rich  old  father  in  the  past,  whom  I  loved  dearly, 
and  who  loved  me  ;  but  another  stepped  in  between,  and 
robbed  me  of  his  love.  But  I  must  not  complain.  He 
died  cursing  me :  'twas  the  work  of  this  other.  But  I 
II 


162  AMONG   THE    BREAKERS. 

must  not  complain.  Those  broad  lands,  elegavit  houses^ 
stores  of  notes  and  gold  yonder,  mine  by  right,  whieb 
this  other  enjoys.     But  I  must  not  complain. 

Hunter,     YouVe  wrong,  —  all  wrong,  Paul. 

David,  Silence  !  I  know  your  smooth,  oily  tongue ; 
I  knew  that  from  the  moment  you  stepped  into  my  father's 
door,  your  aim  was  to  destroy  my  influence,  and  reign 
supreme.  I  knew  this,  and  you  succeeded.  I  couldn't 
beat  you  there,  but  I  had  a  terrible  revenge. 

Hunter,     You  stole  my  daughter. 

David,  Ay,  from  her  cradle.  Yes,  the  smooth  tongue 
was  wanting,  but  a  soft  step,  a  subtle  trick  outfought 
you,  Bruce  Carter ;  and  I  bore  her  off  in  triumph. 

Hunter,     Where  is  she  now? 

David,  Where  you  will  never  find  her.  I  foiled 
your  efforts  to  track  us,  for  I  knew  whom  you  suspected. 
Ah,  'twas  a  glorious  victory.  One  other  would  content 
me.  To  snatch  you  from  my  rich  possessions,  —  mine, 
do  you  hear,  Bruce  Carter  ?  —  to  get  my  hands  about  your 
throat,  to  drag  you  to  the  bank  beyond,  and  hurl  you  into 
the  breakers.  That  would  content  me.  You  hear  me  ? 
We  are  alone,  face  to  face.  Fll  struggle  with  you  for  a 
life,  to  end  this  mortal  hate.     {Approaching  him  fiercely,) 

Hunter  {producing  pistol).  Stop  !  There's  a  quicker 
way  than  that  which  you  propose.  'Tis  loaded,  —  works 
well,  —  is  deadly  sure.  Til  place  it  here  upon  the  table 
{lays  it  on  table),  within  your  reach.  At  any  moment 
you  can  grasp  it,  and  with  it  take  my  life.  I  only  ask 
that  you  will  patiently  listen  to  what  I  shall  say. 

David  {quickly  places  his  hand  on  pistol).  You  re  i> 
in  J  power.     Yes,  I'll  listen. 


AMONG    TUB    BREAKERS.  16S 

Hunter,  Paul,  your  life  has  been  all  a  mistake  ;  yoai 
eritimate  of  me  is  all  a  mistake.  I  never  tried  to  sup- 
plant you  :  was  always  your  friend.  You  remembei.  you 
were  dissipated,  married  against  your  father's  command. 
Often  I  have  stood  your  friend,  but  you  would  not  believe 
me,  so  'twould  be  useless  to  try  to  convince  you  of  mj 
friendship. 

David,     Bah  !     Rather  weave  ropes  of  sand. 

Hunter.  I  never  saw  the  girl  you  married.  I  think 
your  father  was  mistaken  in  her. 

David.  Mistaken  I  She  would  have  graced  hia 
noblest  assemblies.     She  was  too  good  for  me. 

Hunter,      "".nd  so  you  deserted  her? 

David,     Have  a  care,  Hunter.     I'm  desperate. 

Hunter,     Your  father,  by  a  will,  made  me  his  heir. 

David,     Why  torture  me  with  that? 

Hunter.  To  make  plain  what  follows.  One  night  I 
lost  my  daughter.     You  know  how. 

David,     Indeed  I  do. 

Hunter.  The  night  following,  a  little  boy,  a  bright 
little  fellow,  about  six  years  of  age,  was  brought  to  my 
home,  with  a  note,  running  something  like  this  :  "  This 
boy  nas  been  deserted  by  his  father,  who  has  wronged 
you.  His  mother  cannot  care  for  him,  as  a  stern  duty 
compels  her  to  fly.  You  are  rich,  powerful,  enjoying 
what  might  have  been  this  boy's.  Be  a  father  to  the  son 
of  Paul  Hunter,  and  Heaven  and  a  despairing  mother 
will  bless  you."     Signed,  Mary. 

David,  My  wife  and  son  I  "  Mary  I  "  My  wife !  O, 
how  that  name  strikes  upon  my  heart.     Well,  the  boy  — • 

Hunter.      By  the  provisions  of  your  father's   will  I 


164  AMONG   THE    BREAKERS. 

wa8  required  to  take  the  family  name.  By  his  bountf 
and  affection  I  was  already  in  good  practice  as  a  lawyer. 
Of  the  property  willed  me,  I  kept  a  strict  account,  in- 
vested in  the  surest  and  safest  manner,  never  used  one 
dollar  for  my  own  advancement,  so  that  now  the  property 
has  trebled  in  value,  and  to-day,  by  my  own  free  act,  ia 
transferred,  with  full  title  and  possession,  to  one  who  ia 
of  age  to-day  —  your  son. 

David  {aghast).     My  son  !     My  son  ! 

Hunter,  Yes,  the  boy  who  has  been,  and  is  as  dear  to 
me  as  the  little  girl  I  lost ;  the  boy  who  has  grown  to 
be  a  noble  man,  with  brains  to  conceive  and  energy  to 
accomplish  ;  the  boy  whose  life  you  attempted  last  night 
—  your  son  Clarence  Hunter. 

David,  No,  no,  not  that.  Bruce  Carter,  spare  me ; 
spare  a  miserable  wretch.  Attempt  the  life  of  my  own 
Bon?  Open,  earth,  and  hide  me;  fall,  ye  walls,  and 
crush  me.  I  am  accursed  I  accursed !  accursed  !  (  Grouches 
on  stage,) 

Hunter,  Come,  Paul,  I  think  you  will  believe  me 
innocent  of  any  design  to  ruin  you.  Let  us  bury  the 
past.  For  that  boy's  sake  be  a  man  ;  shake  off  this  de- 
sire of  revenge.     Come,  I  offer  you  my  hand. 

David,  Your  hand,  Bruce,  to  such  a  wretch  as  — 
No,  no,  I  see  now  my  error.  You  are  a  noble  man, 
Bruce.  You  have  repaired  wrong  with  blessing.  Take 
your  hand  ?  Why,  mine  would  stain  it  —  Ah !  the 
child  I  Hark !  Do  you  hear  the  breakers  ?  They 
come  —  dash  —  dash  —  creeping  all  about  us.  See  — 
see  that  face  !  it  comes  again  —  the  little  gir!  —  sad 
face,  tearful  eyes  —  on  the  crest  of  the  breakers  I    Drivf 


AMOKQ   THE  BREAKERS.  161 

them  back!  shut  those  eyes!  they  burn  into  nj 
.soul. 

Hunter,     The  child —  my  child,  Paul? 

David.  Yes  —  O  Bruce,  if  there's  a  spark  of  man* 
hood  in  you,  revenge  your  wrongs.  There's  the  weapon 
at  your  hand.  Blow  out  my  brains.  Here,  on  my 
knees,  I  beg  for  pardon,  ere  you  fire  :  on  my  knees,  Bruce. 
But  do  not  spare  me.  I  am  a  murderer,  —  the  child  is 
dead! 

Hunter.     Dead !  dead  I     Then  all's  lost  — 

Enter  Mother  Caret,  c. 

Mother  C.     No,  all's  well.     The  child  lives. 

Hunter.     Do  not  deceive  me. 

Mother  G.  That  repentant  man  at  your  feet  bore  her 
to  the  shore,  —  'twas  the  night  of  the  wreck,  —  plunged 
her  into  the  waves,  thinking  no  questions  would  be  asked 
were  she  found  with  the  dead  passengers  of  the  wreck. 
But  the  waves  cast  her  up,  high  up  upon  the  beach,  and 
she  was  cradled  in  a  mother's  arms.  She  lives  I  (Enter 
Bess  Starbright,  c.)  Bruce  Hunter,  behold  your 
daughter. 

Hunter.  She  my  daughter?  The  proof  t- who  are 
you? 

Mother  G.  The  woman  of  the  silent  tongue,  the  pro- 
tector of  your  child,  the  deserted  wife  —  (throws  off  ivig 
and  cloak,  appearing  in  dark  dress)  —  Mary  Hunter. 

David.  Mary,  my  wife,  what  does  this  mean?  (^Sitt 
on  bench,  and  covers  his  face.) 

Mother  G.  Bess,  the  father  I  promised  you,  has  come 
at  last  Bruce  Hunter,  take  your  child.  I  have  full 
proo£ 


166  AMONG    THE    BREAKERS. 

Hunter.     M7  daughter!     {Takes  her  in  his  arms,)     It 
must   be  true,  it  must  be  true.     Bess,  the  name  youi* 
mother    gave   you,  your  eyes   so  like  hers  —  strange  I 
should  not  have  noticed  them  befoie. 

Bess,  Dear  father,  how  glad  1  am  to  know  youl 
Mother  Carey  has  always  told  me  that  he  would  come  to 
claim  me.  I  never  dreamed  that  he  would  be  the  father 
of  Clarence. 

Hunter,  Clarence?  He  is  not  my  child.  One  good 
turn  deserves  another.  Mary  Hunter,  you  have  restored 
my  daughter.  I  give  you  back  your  son,  brave,  noble, 
honorable.  Clarence,  I  promised  you  astounding  disclo- 
sures to-day.     This  lady  is  — 

Mother  G.     Your  mother,  Clarence. 

Clarence,     My  mother? 

Hunter,     She  is  right.     I  will  explain. 

Clarence,     Dear,  dear  mother.     (Kneels  at  her  feet.) 

Mother  C,  {raising  him  in  her  arms).  Here,  to  my 
heart,  my  boy.  Hard  must  be  that  duty  which  separates 
a  mother  from  her  child.  This  happiness  repays  all  my 
^ains. 

Clarence,  Mother,  I  know  not  what  witchcraft  you 
have  practised  here  ;  I  only  know  that  Mr.  Hunter  never 
yet  deceived  me,  and  something  in  my  heart  tells  me  he 
is  right  now. 

Enter  Paragraph  a7id  Minnie,  c.      Com(  down,  b. 

Paragraph,  Mr.  Hunter,  Miss  Minnie  and  myself 
have  just  been  calculating  the  exact  hour  of  your  de« 
parture. 

Minnie,     We  are  so  impatient  to  be  off. 


AMONG   THE   BREAKERS. 


167 


Enter  Scud,  c. 

Scud.  De  yacht  am  all  ready.  Dar's  a  breeze  spruig 
«p  from  the  sow  —  sow  —  north  by  west,  an'  — 

"  De  ship  it  am  ready,  an*  de  sails  dey  are  set, 
So  I  must  be  off  to  sea,  Phoebe  Jane." 

Hunter.  Nay,  there's  no  hurry,  friends.  The  old  for- 
lune-teller  has  turned  out  to  be  a  very  dear  friend,  and 
we  are  in  no  hurry  to  leave  this  spot. 

Clarence.  Mr.  Hunter,  I'm  in  a  very  awkward  pre- 
dicament, for  I  love  Miss  Bess  Hunter  as  dearly  as  I  love 
Bess  Starbright. 

Hunter.  My  dear  boy,  don't  give  yourself  any  uneasi- 
ness.    Bess,  my  child,  you  love  Clarence? 

Bess.     I'm  afraid  I  do,  father. 

Enter  Larry  and  Biddy,  r. 

Hunter  {joining  their  hands).  Then  be  happy.  Next 
m3  the  happiness  of  calling  you  my  daughter,  is  the  joy 
«r  having  the  power  to  make  my  dear  boy 

"  The  happy  bridegroom  of  so  fair  a  bride." 

Larry.  D'ye  hear  that,  Biddy.  There's  to  be  a  wed. 
I'm . 

Biddy.     Och,  bless  their  dear  hearts. 

Larry,  If  ye  plase,  Misther  Hunter,  Miss  Biddy  an' 
I  am  thinkin'  uv  pairin'  off. 

Scud  {at  doory  c.     Si^igs). 

«*  De  monkey  marred  de  baboon's  siiter—  * 
Hunter.     Silence,  Scudl 


168  AMONG   THE    BREAKERS. 

Larry.  Ah,  ye  hathen  !  An'  if  ye  plase,  sir,  wcuW 
the  young  couple  want  sarvants  ? 

Biddy.  Yis,  sir,  to  tind  the  door  and  kape  the  homt 
tidy. 

Larry,     An'  tind  the  childer  — 

Biddy,     Whist,  Larry  !  it's  spilin'  the  chance,  ye  are. 

Hunter,  I  understand.  We  will  remember  you. 
(Bess  and  Clarence,  hand  in  hand^  go  up  to  Motheb 
Carey.  She  raises  her  hands,  as  though  blessing  them. 
Paragraph  and  Minnie  come  down,  r.) 

Paragraph.  Mr.  Hunter,  as  you  seem  to  be  master  of 
ceremonies,  permit  me  to  announce  the  early  marriag« 
of  the  beautiful  Miss  Minnie  Daze  and  the  versatile  Peter 
Paragraph. 

Minnie.     Peter,  how  can  you,  before  all  these  people  ? 

Hunter.     Accept  my  congratulations. 

Paragraph,  Thank  you.  Being  about  to  enter  ths 
ministry,  I  find  a  wife  will  be  a  necessity. 

Hunter.  The  ministry?  Why,  you  change  professions 
rapidly,  Paragraph. 

Paragraph,  Do  I?  Well,  I  always  did  wish  to  be  a 
pastor  of  a  flock,  it's  so  ennobling. 

Minnie,  And  so  romantic.  {They  retire  up  stage^ 
arm  in  arm,) 

Hunter.  Chameleons,  that  change  their  hues,  and  live 
on  air.  ( Grosses  to  r.)  Ah,  Paul  Hunter,  Clarence, 
I  told  you  this  was  the  great  clearing-up  day.  There's 
another  disclosure  I  must  make.  This  man,  whom  you 
have  known  as  the  light-keeper  — 

David  {rising).  Is  the  light-keeper  still.  {Aside  t« 
Hunter.)     Not  that  name  to  him.     He  would  hate  me 


AMONG    THE    BREAKEBS.  169 

He  knows  1  sought  his  life.  Give  me  time.  I  would 
not  blast  his  happiness  now.  Wait.  (Crossesy  c.) 
Mother  Carey,  before  you  quit  this  place,  do  a  kindness 
to  an  old  neighbor.  (Mother  Carey  comes  down^  c.) 
before  you  quit  your  old  vocation,  tell  me  my  fortune. 
Here's  my  hand.     What  read  you  ? 

Mother  G.  (takes  his  hand).  Here,  nothing ;  but  in 
your  heart  I  read  the  story  of  your  future  life.  I  see 
the  dark  stormy  clouds  of  revenge  slowly  but  surely  drift- 
ing away  fr6ra  your  life.  Gleams  of  hope  appear,  brighter 
and  brighter,  as  an  old  dream  of  love  glows  upon  your 
memory ;  as  she  who  was  so  faithful  to  you,  forgetting 
all  wrongs,  with  the  fondness  of  earlier  days  creeping 
into  her  being,  yearning  to  be  nearer  and  dearer,  forgives 
and  pardons  all. 

David  (falling  on  his  knees ^  and  kissing  her  hand), 
O  Mary,  Mary  !  bless  you  !  bless  you ! 

Mother  G.  Time  washes  away  all  sorrow.  As  we 
strive  to  brighten  life  with  good  deeds  and  true  repent- 
ance, so  will  you  strive,  Paul,  and  the  dark  night  shall 
pass  away,  and  bright  the  morning  come  to  bless  our 
new  espousal. 

David  (rising).  True  wife  !  may  I  never  forget 
your  goodness,  'Twas  a  dark  night,  indeed,  that  swept 
my  soul.  I  will  strive,  and,  with  Heaven's  blessing  and 
your  dear  aid,  win  peace  for  my  soul.  Ah,  wife,  I  have 
been  like  the  unmanageable  ship  upon  the  waters,  swept 
by  the  fierce  winds  of  hate,  battered  by  the  cruel  waves 
of  remorse.  They  have  cast  me  among  the  breakers,  but 
aoble  hands  (takes  Hunter's  hand^  r.)  have  been 
•tretched  out  towards  me,  and  out  of  the  darkness  haa 


170  AMONG    THE    FREAKERS. 

gleamed  the  light  of  hope  {takes  Mother  Carey's 
hand,  L.),  and  on  the  open  sea  of  repentance  a  strong 
and  steady  purpose  shall  waft  this  battered  halk  to  a 
haven  of  rest. 

TABLEAU. 

David,  c,  clasping  the  hand  of  Hunter,  b.  c.  ;  his  lef\ 
hand  in  Mother  Caret's  ;  her  right  hand  on  his  shoul- 
der. Paragraph  ancZ  Minnie,  r.  c,  arm  in  arm.  ClaR' 
£NCE  and  Bess,  l.  c,  arm  in  arm.  HcuD  at  dvor^  o 
Lasst  and  Biddy,  r.  c,  hacL 


4iways  Get  the  Best.      50  of  the  Choicest  Selections  in  the 


NoJ 


Beading  Club  and  Handy  Speaket 


Edited  by  George  M.  Bakkr. 

Price,  clothf  SO  cents ;  paper,  16  centSm 

CONTENTS. 

George  31.  Bak», 

Leigh  Hunt, 
Aldine, 


rhe  Red  Jacket        «        .        »        . 

Old  Age 

Ilahmoud 

The  Closet  Scene  from  '♦Hamlet" 
How  he  saved  St.  Michael's 

Samson 

The  Story  of  the  Bad  Little  Boy  who 

didn't  come  to  Grief. 
Sir.  Caudle  and  his  Second  Wife    . 
Tauler        .        .        o        .        .        . 
The  Doorstep    ..... 
Old  Farmer  Gray  gets  photographed 
Mr.    O'Gallagher's    Three    Roads    to 

Learning     ,        .        »        . 
The  Jester's  Sermon 
'*  The  Boofcr  Lady  " 
Deiiance  of  Harold  the  Dauntless 
Battle  Hymn      . 
The  Story  of  the  Faithful  Soul 
«•  Curfew  must  not  ring  To-Night 
The  Showman's  Courtship 
How  Terry  saved  his  Bacon   . 
The  Senator's  Pledge 
Ovei.n,hrow  of  Belshazzar 
The  Hour  of  Prayer 
The  Squire's  Story  . 
The  Happiest  Couple 
Godiva        ,        .        «        .        , 
Farmer  Bent's  Sheep-Washing 
The  Deutsch  Maud  MuUer      . 
Charles  Sumner 
The  Bricklayers 
A  Stranger  in  the  Pew     . 
■•'he  Mistletoe-Bough 
The  Puzzled  Ccnsus-Taker     . 
The  Voices  at  the  Throne 
Hans  Breitmann's  Party  . 
Rob  Hoy  MacGrcgor         o        . 
Dyr  l)run>mer 

The  Yankee  and  the  Dutchman's  Dog 
Pi)pping  1  he  Question 
riiii  Bumpkin's  Courtship 
riu'  Il:ipi  y  Life 
At  the  Soldiers'  Graves   , 
Nobody  there    .        .        ,.        . 
The  Factory -Girr»  Diary 
li.-tiie  Tunnel    .        «        .        . 
^  Jones "    .        .        . 
The  ^yhistle^    .... 
'♦  Good  and  Better  * 
Jakie  on  Watermelon  Pickle  . 
The  <^)Id  Methodist's  Testimony 

8oid  by  all  booksellers  and  newsdealers,  and  sent  bij  mail,  postpaid,  on 
receipt  of  price. 

LEE   &   SHEPARO-   Publishers,   Boston. 


3fark  Twain, 

Douglas  JerroW%  Fireside  Sainti^ 

Whittier. 

E.  C,  Stedman. 

John  11.  lutes. 

Capt.  Marryat. 

Walter  Thornhury. 

Dickens's  *'  Mutual  Friend.*' 

Scott. 

KOnier. 

Adelaide  Procter. 

Rosa  Ilartwick  Thorpe, 

Artemus  Ward. 

Charles  Sumner.. 
Barry  CortiwaiL 
Mrs.  Ilcmans. 
John  PhiXJiix. 
Sheridan. 
Tenjiyson. 

Carl  Pretzel. 

Carl  Schnrz. 

G.  //.  Bamea.  , 

Harper's  Mag* 

Bayley. 

J.  G  Saxe 

J.  Westwood. 

Charles  G.  LelanAr 

Walter  Scott 

Charles  F.  Adams. 


Sir  Henry  Wotton. 
liohert  Collyer. 
Anonymoua. 
Morton. 


f  OU  will  find  one  of  your  Favorites  among  50  of  the  Choloetl 

Selections  in  tlie 


110.3 


Reading  Olub  and  Handy  Speakw 

Edited  by  George  M.  Bakeb. 
PricCt  cloth,  60  cents;  paper^  Id  cents. 
CONTENTS. 


fhe  Rescue 

The  Pickwickians  on  Ice  . 
A  Picture 
Tobe's  Monuii^ent 
i  he  Two  Anchors     . 
The  Old  Ways  and  the  New 
By  the  Alma  River    . 
I  rial  Scene  from  ♦'  Merchant  of  Venice 
The  Sisters  .        .        ,        . 

Parm-Yard  Song 
The  Fortune-Hunter 
Curinij:  a  Cold  ... 

In  the  Bottom  Drawer 
1  wo  Irish  Idyls  ,        .        • 

Over  the  Ri'er   .... 
The  Modest  Cousin  . 
Biddy's  Troubles 
The  Man  with  a  Cold  in  his  Head 
Harry  and  1        .        .        .        . 
The  Shadow  on  the  Wall 
The  Little  Puzzler     . 
A  Traveller's  Evening  Song     , 
Calling  a  Boy  in  the  Morning  . 
Cooking  and  Courting 
A  Tragical  Tale  of  the  Tropics 
The  Paddock  Elms   . 
The  Bobolink    .... 
Toothache  .... 

The  Opening  of  the  Piano 
Press  On     ....       . 
The  Beauty  of  Youth 
Queen  Mab         .... 
A  Militia  General      ,        . 
Address  of  Spottycus 
Our  Visitor,  and  what  he  came  for 
^  What's  the  Matter  with  that  Nose?  " 
Workers  and  Thinkers 
The  Last  Ride  . 
Baby  Atlas 
Possession 
There  is  no  Death 
The  Learned  Negro  , 
N"earer,  my  God,  to  Thee 
A  Sliort  Sermon 
sroin'  Home  To-day  . 
The  Broken  Pitcher  . 
^  Baby's  Soliloquy 
The  Double  Sacrifice 
Sunday  Morning 
,  The  Quaker  Meeting 


Our  Fat  Contributor, 

Ruskin. 

Nora  Perry, 

Oioen  Jferediih, 

Sir  E.  Bulwer  Lytton, 

Congregation  a  list. 

Sarah  F.  Adams. 

Not  by  a  Ilard.Shell  BuptHm 

W.  31.  Carleion, 

Anonymous, 

Arthur  William  Austin- 
George  A.  Baker t  jun, 
Samuel  Lover. 

%^  by  all  booksellers  an'i  nswsdealerSt  or  sent  by  mail  on  receipt  o^     •i* 

i^E  &  SHEPARD.  Publishers,  Bostoi 


John  Brownjohn, 

Dickens. 

Mrs.  H.  A.  Blnghxmm 

Elizabeth  Kilhara, 

R.  II.  Stoddard, 

John  II.  Yates. 

Miss  Mnloch. 

Shakspeare. 

John  (t.  Whittier, 

John  G.  Saxe. 
Mark  Twain. 

Alfred  Perceval  Gramm 

Priest. 

Sheridan  KnowleB. 


8ara\  31.  B.  PUOL 
Mrs.  Hemana, 

Tom  to  Kea, 

B.  E.  Woolf 
Aldine, 

Atlantic  3Ionthlp, 
Park  Benjamin, 
Theodore  Parker. 
Romeo  and  JzilieL 
Thomas  Corwin, 


NOVELTIES    IN   ENTERTAINMENTS. 


|P^^^^^mg 


A  Series  of  Original  Readings,  to  be  produced  as 

With  Full  Directions  for  Representation,  by  F.  E.  Chase. 

Illustrated  with  Fifty  full-page  Silhouettes,  by  J.  F.  Goodrich,  containing 
the  following-  Pantomimes : 

DRINK,  ANONYMOUS, 

DRIGGS  AND  HIS  DOUBLE,  CINDERELLA, 

ORPHEUS,  THE  ORGAN-GRINDER,  IN  PAWN. 

Price  in  Boards,  Illustrated  Cover,  $1.00. 

Either  of  the  above  pantomimes  will  be  sold  singly  at  25  cents. 


A.  WARD'S  WAX   FIGGER   SHOW. 

"^  serious  of  wax  staioots  ecalled  by  few,  and  cocceld  by  none.^^ 

Arranged   as  an  entertainment   similar  to  the   well-known  Jarley*s  Wax 
Works;- with  a  descriptive  lecture  in  the  language  of  the  renowned  humorist* 
PRICE  25  CTS. 


For  two  male  and  two  female  characters,  entitled, 

ANASTASIA ;  or,  The  Peer  and  the  Pretty  One. 

By  HENRY  M.  BAKER.    Price  35  Cts. 


f^liir^    fof  ^n^ateui?  ^¥liekti^idkl^. 


BY    GEORGE    M.    BAITER, 

A<uihoT of  *\Amai€ur  Dramas^*  "  The  Mimic  Stage,*'  **ThL^ocial  Stage,*'  **Tke  Dra-u 
Room  Stix^j^J*  Handy  D-rantas"  **  The  Exhibition  ^*gm^"  **-^  Baker's  Dozen,"  efi^^ 
'  ^^      Titles  in  this  Type  are  New^^K. 

Titles  in  this  Type  are  TernOtfince  JPlays, 


In  Four  Acts, 

Better  Tlian  Gol<i^    7  nialo,  4  femule 
char.    .,...' 


COMEDIES,  &c.,  continued, 

Miile  Characters  Only, 
I  A  Tender  Attach mexp.    7  char.  . 


In  Three  Acts. 

Our  Folks.    6  male,  5  female  char.  .     . 
The   Flower  of  tJ^v^Family.    : 

male,  ^  female  char.    .;.....•.. 

Enlisted  for  the  V/ak.  7  n>ale,  3  fe- 
male characters ...•••« 

My  Brother's  Keeper,  5  male,  3  fe- 
male char «».    ♦. 

Tlic  Little  J>rotvn  Jug*     5  male,  3 

female  char. "- 

In  Two  Acts. 

Above  tlie  Clouds.    7  ma" 

characters 

One  IIuiKlred  Years  Ago.  7  luaie, 
4  female  char. 

Among  the  Breakers.  6  male,  v*  m«le 
char 

Bread  on  the  Waters.  5  male,  3  fti+Tialc 
char. 

Down  by  thr  Sea.  6  male,  3  ."cnale 
char 

Once  on  a  Time.     4  male,  2  female  ch.;. 

The  hast  Loaf,     5  male,  3  fem-Jie  char. 
In  One  Act. 

Stand  by  the  Flag.     5  male  char,  c  . 

The  Tempter,    3  male,  i  female  char. 

COMEDIES  AND  FARCES. 

A  Mysterious  Disappear  ance,    4 

male,   3  female  char ••.• 

Paddle  Your  O-ivii  Canoe.    7male, 

3  female  char •« 

A  J>rop  too  Much.     4  male,  2  female 

characters. ...•*••• 

A  Little  More  Cider.  5  male,  3  fe- 
male char 

A  Thorn  Among  the  Rosks.  2  male,  6 
female  char.       . 

Never  Say  Die.     3  male,   3  female  char. 

Seeing  the  Elephant.  6  male,  3  female 
char 

The  Bostox  Dip.     4  male,  3  female  char. 

The  Duchess  of  Dublin.  6  male,  4  fe- 
male char 

Thirty  Minutes   for   Refreshments. 

4  male.  3  female  char •  • 

We're  all  Teetotalers,  4  male,  2  fe- 
male char • •. 

Male  CItaracters  Only. 

A  Close  Shave.    6  char 

A  Public  Benefactor.     6  char 

A  Sea  of  Troubles.     8  char 


15 
IS 


Coals  of  Fire.    6  char.    . 

Freedom  of  the  Press.    8  char. 

Shall  Our  Mothf^rs  Vote  ?  n  char. 
1  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury      j 2  char. 
;  Humors  of   the    Strike.     8  char. 

My  Uncle  the  Caftai.n.    6  char.    .    . 
;  New  Brooms  Sweep  Clean.    6  char.    . 

The  Great  Elixir.     9  char 

The  Hypochondriac.    5  char.  .... 

The  Man  with  the  Demijohn,    4 
char. 

The    Runaways.    4  char.      ..... 

The  Thief  of  Time.    6  char.     .         o    . 

Wanted,  a  Male  Cook.    4  char.  «    .     » 

Female  Characters  Only^ 
A  Love  of  a  Bonnet.  5  char.  , 
A  Precious  Pickle.     6  char.    .... 

Nv^  Ci'RE  no  Pay.     7  char 

The  Champion  of  Her  Sex.  8  char.  . 
The  Greatest  Plague  IN  Life.  8cha. 
The  Grecian  Bend.  7  char.  .  .  .  . 
The  Red  Chignon.  6  char.  .... 
Using  the  Weed.    7  char. 


i 

ill 


iilj 

w 
I'll 

ii 


ALLEQOEIES. 

Arranged  for  Music  and  Tableaux,  j 

Lightheakt's    Pilgrimage.     8  female  | 
char.     ... 

The    Revolt  of   the    Bees.    9  female  | 
char. 

The  Sculptor*s  Triumph,  i  male,  4  fe- 
male char 

The  Tournament  of  Idvlcourt.  10 
female  char 

The  "/ar  of  the  Rosf-S.    8  female  char. 

MUSICAL  AlID  LSAMATIO. 

An  Original   Idea,     t  male,   x  female  jljjj 
char, 

Bonbons  ;  or,  the  Paint  King.  6  male, 
I  female  char. /    *    * 

Capuletta  :  CK,  Romeo  and  Juliet 
Restored.     3  male,  i  female  char.     . 

Santa  Claus*  Frolics.    ...... 

Snow-bound;  or,  Alonzo  the  Brave 
AND  the  Fair  Imogene.  3  male,  x 
female    char •     • 

The  Merry  Christmas  of  the  Old 
Woman  who  lived  in  a  Shoe.    .    . 

The    Pedler   of    Very   Nice.     7  male 

ThVseve'n  Ages.'  A  Tableau  Entertain- 
ment.   Numerous  male  and  female  char. 

Too  Late  for  the  Train.     2  male  char. 

The  Visions  of  Freedom,  h  female 
char. 


m 


ill 
4 


Geo.  M.  Baker  &  Co.,  47  Franklin  St.,  Boston 


m 


Baker's  Humorous  Dialogues. 
Baker's  Humorous  Dialogues^ 


Male  characters  only.    25  cents. 
Female  characters  only.    25  cent«! 


111 


'        Gaylamount 
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Binder 

Gaylord  Bros..  Inc. 

Stockton,  Calif. 
T.  M.  Reg.  U.S.  Pat.  Off 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


